Here to Help
by storycrewlover
Summary: Prince Caspian with an additional character -Book- and Movie-verse- I hope it isn't too Mary-Sueish. I simply wanted an interesting, more realistic character for the four to interact with. Here are the results!
1. Chapter 1

She looked into his eyes; they were bloodshot from desperation at the fight. 'He never could keep his head' she thought, and she grinned, and dived in. There were three or four others, she couldn't say exactly, but all she had to see was them attacking a someone for whom she felt responsible, someone she held intense loyalty for, and they were done.

A dark-haired stocky boy was holding Peter against a wall. She grabbed his gray school sweater vest. It ripped as she threw him against the opposite wall, baring her teeth as she drew back her fist and gave him two fast punches, one in the nose, one in the throat; this one would stay down. Someone much heavier than her slammed into her back; she dropped to her knees, grabbed him arm behind her and twisted it up behind his back as she regained her feet while turning to bring herself up behind him. Adrenaline and glory filled her veins; this was _right_, she was made to to this. Placing her leg in front of his, she forced him forward so he tripped and went down. Grabbing his other arm, she held both wrists behind his back, forcing him to stay stomach-down in the ground of the grimy tube tunnel. There were only four or fewer of them, she remembered. Surely Peter could take care of one or two by himself. True, he was not as adept at fighting and keeping his head as she was, but still . . . She looked over and cursed. Another boy- the last one- was holding her liege lord's head over the tracks, where the platform dropped away. Abandoning the one she had so neatly pinned, she rugby-tackled the one threatening Peter's life, bowling him over, giving her ally a chance to get up. As she was grappling for the advantage with her new enemy, whistles sounded through the tunnel. Looking into her foe's eyes, she nodded, and they backed away from each other to melt into opposite sides of the crowd. Flicking her eyes over the mulling kids, all in school uniforms, various shades of gray with striped accents all the colours of the rainbow, she spotted the dark brunette heads of three of her four friends, all of them of the Pevensie family.

"Hey." She quickly rejoined them, wincing as she listened to Peter being told off by a copper; he was also not as adept as her at not getting caught. He joined the rest of them as Edmund, Susan, and Lucy parked themselves on one of the benches sunk into a niche in the curving tunnel wall.

"You're welcome," Edmund muttered from the far side of the bench. He had apparently helped out with the fight, and she hadn't even noticed. . . "Thanks", she murmured in reply. She glanced over at Peter. On her right sat Susan while Peter paced in short irritated circles to her left. "I had it sorted," he barked. Disbelief and indignation filled her being. "No. You didn't," she stated angrily. He huffed and plopped down net to Lucy, who promptly began to hug his arm. 'He doesn't deserve the comfort,' she thought derisively, but then her anger crumbled and she sighed. "What was it this time?" Susan asked. Peter told the story in few words, of being shoved and asked to apologize for it. Though the violence may have gotten out of hand, the boys deserved a lesson, she reflected. The Pevensies continued into a short discussion about accepting where they lived now. Rachel blocked it out; she knew they lived in England, she had no problem coming to grips with it. She had possessed little power to give up, so though she had just as severe a lifestyle shift, she didn't have to drastically change the way she interacted with those around her. And though she desperately missed fighting, she still had exercise; in it she could lose herself, sometimes just as surely as should used to in the training yards. And in thinking this, she realized once again that she should have more sympathy for her four friends; they had given up much more. She had been staring at the blackness where the train would appear. Jarring echoes vibrated up from the tracks, signaling the impending arrival of their train. Rachel sighed again and turned back towards her friends, a small smile pulling up a corner of her mouth. Peter caught her eye and nodded, mouthing 'thank you'. Her smile widened and she nodded in return. She flicked her head at Edmund, who was gazing blackly and the ground under the bench. Peter looked down, shamed. Rachel nodded again, an improvement. At least now he knew he was wrong, and he knew who was right. Edmund was right. The four Pevensies needed to come to grips with the fact that none of them were monarchs anymore, Peter most of all. He had exchanged his sometimes crippling over-cautiousness with overconfidence and arrogance, and Rachel could not stand it.

The train was almost there, she could see it's light reflecting off of the dusty tiles that lined the tube tunnel, when she felt as if she were being pushed by some powerful but definitively friendly presence. Susan, Lucy, Edmund, and Peter were all complaining of something behind her, but she could barely discern their voices over the roar of the fast-approaching train. Someone grabbed her hand; Susan, funnily enough. She and Susan had always gotten on the least well, being completely opposed in their outlooks. And suddenly they were shielded from the train's light by rough dark rock, and the train was not the origin of the light. It was hot sunlight on a bright beach that felt very familiar. Joy exploded in Rachel's soul. They were back! Back to a land that she fought for, where she and Peter were a seamless team, where the five of them laughed at Edmund's jokes and rolled their eyes at Susan's propriety, where Lucy was as much an adult as Peter and the Pevensies were the monarchs they were made to be, and Rachel was a warrior who defended King and Country with her life, where her duties were simply to train herself and deal with the military.

Giggles and then full-throated laughter resounded from her mouth and she ran to the water, soon joined by the more careful monarchs, the way it should be. They were all soon soaked, but the pure joy in all of them, showing in beaming smiles and chuckles for no reason between splashes, seemed to shine from their very skin; at least that's how Rachel felt. Something else she hadn't felt in a while stirred as she laughed at Peter and Edmund's merciless water fight.

He used to be like this all the time, she thought. Never this carefree, not with a country to run, none of them were . . . but still, more at home. It was heart-warming, and brought a glowing grin to her lips. She flicked her fingers at Ed to signal him to stop, reached up to hold Peter's pale cheek and bring his head to hers. They shared one sweet lingering kiss before Edmund shouted, "Look!"

She stroked his cheek once as he smiled down at her, his arms resting about her for a moment before they broke apart. She put her hands on her hips, staring up along Ed's line of vision. There was a great mass of ruins on the cliff the soared above the beach they played on. Again a feeling nudged her in the back of her mind, a memory. She had been here before, had done this before, or something very similar. When had she played on a beach, kissed Peter after a water fight? _Narnia . . . _ on the beach below the Cair. After an evening run, she would occasionally meet Peter on the beach, sometimes the rest of the monarchs as well, to play and swim in the water, to kiss and practice fighting. The ruins . . . they looked as if they could have been the Cair . . . she decided not to say anything as of yet. No reason to alarm anyone, but was it possible that so much time could have passed when they were in England? Perhaps . . .

She needn't have been quiet. After the group had hiked up behind the cliff to explore the ruins, Susan found pieces of Edmund's gold and onyx chess set. Lucy found the dais and the remnants of the four thrones. She even shoved them into their places, from the right, Edmund, Peter, Susan, then Lucy. Rachel fell into place with utterly automatic steps behind Peter's right shoulder, between him and Edmund, the fighting rulers and their general, their defender. It felt _right_. Like the days of old when Edmund would sleep in Peter and Rachel's rooms, the three of them laughing late into the night, only to rise early the following morning for arms practice, after which were sitting lessons about tact and military strategies where between one and all three of them would manage to doze off for at least a minute. It had been a beautiful existence, full of love, laughter, loyalty, and war.

The night was cold for late summer, and fed only on the apples from trees that had taken over the Cair, none of the five were terribly happy about sleeping under the stars. With no other option, they lay in front of the dais under a twinkling sky.

Rachel awoke very early, as she was prone to do when outside in dawn light. It was the first time in a long time that she had had to slip out from under Peter's arm as she rose under the bright grey light to collect more apples for breakfast. Later she and the boys would fish, she decided. For now, she was content to wander about, intent on finding the firmest, biggest apples for her and their majesties to eat. It was funny how easily she slipped back into this version of herself, she thought. The version where she considered her friends her lieges. The brothers-in-arms that Peter and Edmund were- that mentality had been as slow to leave as Peter's attitude of kingship; it lingered still. And Peter as her partner, in war, but also in love . . . that had not been the case for several months, not since his arrogance had caused her such disgust she couldn't bear to be touched by him. Nothing had been said, she had just become more of a friend to Edmund and to Lucy, and spent little, and then no, time alone with Peter. Susan she had never truly gotten on with as an equal. When Susan was a Queen, she was in her own right to run the castle and all the pomp and particulars that went with it. On equal footing, the two girls were at odds, with completely different ideas about fun, propriety, even pleasantries were stilted between the two sometimes, for Rachel couldn't stand it when she knew Susan was fussing over her appearance, and Susan couldn't take it when Rachel dressed for school as she did for practice. Still, they were back home now, Rachel thought with suppressed glee, so she and Susan should get along fine.

She returned to the circle of sleeping Pevensies, shirt stretching under its load of apples. Rachel sighed; it would be nice if someone had been awake to talk to . . . but no matter. She decided to explore a bit by herself.

She had never fit in with the Pevensies, slender and beautiful as they were. She wasn't a hag, but Rachel was built heavily, muscularly broad, with a figure more suited to armour than flowing skirts. She always thought that her and Peter were only . . . together . . . because she was the only one he could go to battle with, and the only one who could train longer than him in the practice courts. The only one who could be a brother-in-arms as well as a girl in his arms. Well, no matter. It was who she was, in any case, so she might as well be loved for it. She was _lucky_ to be loved for it. Many, including Susan, found violence and hard work scandalizing in a female; in fact, Rachel doubted that Susan saw her as female anymore.

Later that morning Peter decided to check the treasury, to see if it had been raided which, honestly, it was most likely to have been. Edmund had noted the tell-tale signs of attack by catapults, and if the palace had been taken by force, it had most certainly been looted. She and the boys heaved their weight against the stone panel that shielded the wooden door from view while Lucy and Susan watched excitedly. The door, its wood ancient and dry-rotted, crumbled fairly easily under her and Peter's hands. After elbowing it sharply, she and Peter really ripped the thing apart. Then Edmund stepped in, eyebrows raised, to reach into the hole and open the door from the inside.

"No need to be so violent," he said with a smirk. Rachel giggled sheepishly. Peter, meanwhile, was ripping up his shirt.

"What are you doing?" she asked with resigned consternation.

"It isn't like there's a light switch we can flick on to see in there-"

"Ahem." Edmund cleared his throat, shaking his head at Peter. He held up his new torch.

"You might've mentioned that a bit earlier," Peter responded with a incredulous chuckle.

Rachel watched with trepidation, not looking forward to the sight of a ransacked, destroyed room that had once held the monarchs' most precious treasures, as Edmund led the way into the darkened space. Peter signaled for the girls to go in front of him, and Rachel guarded the rear, glancing backwards suspiciously.

The light filtered down from the loft they stood on to reveal the room below.

"It's all still here!" Lucy exclaimed brightly. Rachel beamed. The statues of the monarchs, all fashioned when they were in their twenties, stood gleaming above stone chests of their possessions, each royal with a marble alcove of their own. She watched the four of them scatter to rediscover their respective treasures.

"I was so tall . . ." Lucy sighed, pulling out an brocade gown that fell well below her feet.

"Well, you were older then," Susan commiserated cheerfully.

"As opposed to hundreds of years later, when you're younger," Edmund interjected dryly. Rachel and Lucy chuckled while Susan shook her head, clutching her bow and quiver of arrows, their fletching dyed an ostentatious scarlet. Peter blew the dust off a platter bearing a likeness of the great lion on it, gazing at the visage contemplatively. Rachel's eyes flicked to the corners of the room. She noticed a small, long chest of dark crumbling wood sitting between Edmund and Peters' alcoves. 'Could it be?' she wondered. Timidly, she knelt beside it, forcing the old lock open. It was dusty inside, but a long curved form beside a shorter straight one gleamed at her, and joy blossomed in her heart. Reverently she drew the comfortable weight of the curved blade out of the box, stroking the dust from the scabbard and hilt. Grasping the leather-wrapped hilt she drew the weapon in one swift, practiced motion, its diamond-hardened edges gleaming razor sharp in the light of Edmund's torch. She gasped, staring at the beautiful weapon, its length reflecting glimmering bars onto the walls. To her left she heard a heavier weapon being drawn and looked over to see Peter gazing with awe at his broadsword, feeling its weight, reading the inscription on the fuller. Rachel felt warm and at home, at peace; this was what she remembered, what she loved. The simple duty of defending her kings, fighting alongside them. Edmund beside her stroked his thumb over the pommel of his long-sword. She remembered when she was given the duty. Before they had met Aslan for the first time, when Edmund had still been with the witch . . . she grinned as she recalled the look on Susan's face . . .

_She couldn't believe, yet- there he was._

_ "Merry Christmas, sir," was Lucy's heartfelt greeting. _

_ Susan, trying to puzzle out this man's presence, his great red leather coat and sledge pulled by reindeer in harnesses resplendent with hundreds of tiny tinkling silver bells. "I thought there was no Christmas in Narnia?"_

_ Peter and Rachel simply beamed at the figure whom the American girl knew as Santa Claus. "There wasn't," the bearded man replied. "Not for a long time. But the arrival of your majesties has set the Witch's power to fading. He turned his back to them, hauling something huge from the seat of the sleigh. _

_ "Presents!" Lucy realized. Father Christmas just chuckled. To Lucy he gave a glittering bottle of red juice and a small sheathed knife. "_"_The juice of the fire flower," he explained. "One drop and this cordial will heal any injury. And though I hope you won't find use for it-" She took the knife and looked up into the fairy tale man's eyes. _

_ "Thank you, sir. But- I _think _I could be brave enough." _

_ Father Christmas smiled. "I'm sure you could. But battles are- ugly affairs." He turned to Susan with a bow, a quiver of arrows, and a heavily carved ivory horn. He told her to trust the bow, that it did not easily miss. _

_ "What happened to 'battles are ugly affairs'?" she protested weakly. _

_ He chuckled. "And though you don't seem to have trouble making yourself heard, put this horn to your lips, and wherever you are, help will come." Susan thanked him as he pulled out a large sword and shining shield, turning to Peter. The youth took them with awe, and immediately drew the sword, staring up at the gleaming blade. "That is a tool, Peter, no toy. Use it wisely." The boy nodded and sheathed the weapon. Rachel looked across the three Pevensies. They were to be monarchs, if they stayed in this land of magic. Each gift fit their roles as such. What would Father Christmas have for a headstrong girl who was too interested in, as many had put it to her before, the affairs of men? She would be no beautiful and gentle queen. She watched the red coat swish above the snow as she gazed at the ground, acceptance at her state as an outcast filling her. She took a deep breath to see what gift the man would have for a misfit such as her- perhaps some pretty trinket that a girl should enjoy. And then she gasped, her soul flooded with hope and happiness. The old man gave her a knowing smile. She hesitantly took from his hands a curved blade sheathed in simple leather, a matching straight dagger, the assortment of belts to wear them with, and a thick, small round shield. He reached back into his bag to produce a broad leather sash in which five small, thin knives were sheathed. _

_ "Jesus, Rachel," Peter exclaimed. She looked back up at Father Christmas, needing to be assured that these gifts were indeed meant for her. He set a hand on each of her shoulders. _

_ "Young Lona. Your duty is both the simplest and yet the most easily misunderstood. Not a monarch, never will you rule. Yours is to defend your land and your kings with every skill and resource you can muster. Fight well, Daughter of Eve." Turning to face them all, he cried, "Merry Christmas- and Long Live Aslan!" With these final words, he slung himself and his bag back into the sleigh, and was off, the humans watching as he disappeared into the white landscape._

When the five emerged into the sunlight, they were redressed, outfitted in the clothes of their reign. The boys and Rachel wore long tunics, leggings, and boots, the girls having donned gowns. Rachel's scimitar was strapped to her back along with the buckler she had discovered in a pile of equipment off to the side, her dagger on her left thigh. The boys and Lucy had their weapons belted on their waists, and Susan had her quiver upon her back, her bow held loosely in her hands. She unconsciously ran her hands along its smooth yellow wood every so often.

That night, fed by the trout which Rachel and Ed had fished out of a deep pool in a stream running down to the beach (Peter had been unsuccessful with his line), the Pevensies and Rachel sat in a circle in the fading daylight.

"What shall we do?" was Lucy's question.

"Well . . . " Peter began slowly, "We must have been brought back for some purpose . . . "

"Yes, but how are we to know what it is?" Susan asked flatly. She continued, "Nothing we've seen has led us to believe that anything is _wrong_."

"Cair Paravel is in ruins! What would you call that?" Peter replied fervently.

"Peter, it's been a ruin for some time . . . I mean, look at the apple trees, the forest has taken over. It's been destroyed for a long time," Ed argued. The five of them conceded but winced at the declaration. No one wanted to believe that their homeland had been so changed in their time away from it. "Though, it was attacked with catapults- I saw the marks on the stonework over there." He pointed.

"We need to move away from the Cair. To find out what's going on in the country, to find out what's happened to the Narnians", Peter said softly, but his voice seemed to resound into the corners of the clearing. The other four gazed at him, Susan with mistrust, Edmund with agreement, Rachel with loyalty, Lucy with sadness. "How else are we to find out why we were brought back?" Peter nodded slowly while Lucy smiled sadly and inclined her head.

"But where are we to go? How are we to _find_ our subjects?" Susan queried with clinging uncertainty. Peter shrugged.

"I don't know. But we have to find someone who knows what's going on."

"Yes," Edmund agreed.

"We don't know if there will be food if we go anywhere outside the apple trees around the Cair. So why don't we spend tomorrow collecting provisions and getting ready to leave. We can start off the day after tomorrow. How's that?" Rachel gazed around at them, Peter, smiling and comfortable in his role as leader, nodding in agreement.

"Agreed," Ed nodded.

"Yeah", Peter said.

"All right", Lucy murmured, obviously not over-joyed at the prospect of leaving their old home.

"Fine," Susan resigned.

When true darkness had fallen, a cool breeze rustled through the canopy of foliage above three sleeping heads. Peter awoke to find a curious chill on his right; Rachel was gone. She had always loved the feel of the surf on her bare feet, he recalled, and they had spent many an evening on the beach with Ed, playing in the waves. Quietly he rose and descended the narrow path to the beach, noting fresh footsteps visible in the few patches of moonlight that had managed to filter through the trees to pool on the dirt.

She was standing, the waves rushing in almost at her knees, barefoot in the water. Her leggings, weapons, and boots lay piled several meters away from the waterline. He dropped his next to them and paused. Rachel had her arms spread to the night sky, occasionally running her fingers under the waves that rushed through her. Her skin was a ghostly shimmering white in the moonlight. He looked down at his own limbs to see the same colour. It brought an appreciative grin to his face, and he jogged down to water, softly calling her name so as not to frighten her.

"Rachel . . . Rachel." She glanced back at him, a soft gleaming smile lighting her face.

"Hey," she said quietly, her yankee accent relaxing the word and bringing a warmth to his heart. His own accent, along with his siblings . . . they made words seem so formal and hard sometimes. He came to stand beside her, looking out to enjoy the night, the landscapes, the familiar constellations he had not seen in a year bringing further gladness to his soul. Breathing out a sigh, he placed his palm on the curve between her shoulder and neck. Half a clap on the shoulder, half a lover's caress. He looked once at her face, then back out at the dark seas.

"It's wonderful to be back."

"Yes." She came closer, to lean her head to his chest. She could feel the deep vibrations of his mellow baritone voice as his hand smoothed wisps of hair away from her cheek. "It's good to have _you_ back. I've missed you."

"I guess." She heard the shrug in his voice.

"Mmm."

"I've missed being a king . . . "

"I know. I missed my role here too. It feels so good to hold a blade in my hand again, you know?"

"_Yes_. And to be in charge, to have some responsibility. It just feels . . . _right_." Her brow knitted and she reached up to hold his cheek.

"Look . . . I know you're used to being the leader. But we don't know what this land is like anymore. Just- be careful. _Plan_ careful. Don't dive into anything without thinking. Alright? And listen to me and Ed. You did as High King. You should now." Rachel dropped her hand and watched the waves for a moment. She knew Peter was digesting her speech and she was hoping he had received it well.

"I- Of course I'll listen to you. And Ed."

"It's just, you haven't been so . . . attentive to us . . . for the past year."

"But we were in England!-"

"Where we are shouldn't change _who_ we are, Peter."

"I- I know . . ."

"I'm just saying- well, I'm really saying go back to who you were before we came back, but- but tone down the, the kingliness? Yeah? You come off as- and don't hit me for saying it- but you come off as arrogant-"

"Well-"

"And I don't know if you realize it or not! Do you?"

"Look, I just do what I think is right. And I _should _be in charge, I'm the High King!-"

"Yes, you are! But remember what it means to be a king! Not a tyrant, not a general. A king."

"So what does it mean, if you're the expert?" He was angry now, and Rachel groaned in frustration.

She grabbed his arms, trying to get through to his common sense, saying, "I'm sorry. I am! It just came out wrong . . . please, just try and see it from my perspective, from everyone else's- take a step back, Peter. Think about how others see you. It's not all bad, there's not much bad in you! But watch for it, because this reckless power you try to throw around- it really makes into someone I just- I don't know." He turned away from her and slowly walked back to the shore and disappeared into the woods, on the path leading up to the ruins of the Cair. Rachel sighed, deciding to sleep on the beach. It would be best if she could give him time to himself, to sleep on it. She thought of the fights he had gotten himself into, the many, many fights. They were against bullies, people who looked at Susan the wrong way, and sometimes they were over his sense of honour and pride, which seemed to have grown in size to compensate for his loss of age when they returned to England. She had always been surprised that Peter was the one getting into petty fights rather than she. Her love of battle and sparring was an integral part of her, whereas Peter had always looked on violence as something inhuman and distasteful. She recalled one day when she and Ed had been chatting in his room and Peter had come in and seen the bruises on her arms and face from a brawl she herself had gotten into. She had been telling Ed about it . . .

_ "Turning into Peter, are you?" His query was skeptical._

_ "No! No, I'm not. It was just- there were these boys-"_

_ "How many?"_

_ "Maybe five?" She had shrugged. _

_ "Five!" Edmund had gasped as Peter repeated the number loudly, walking toward them from where he had been concealed out in the hallway._

_ "Well, they were throwing around this poor kid and I had to stop them!"_

_ "So they didn't even do anything to you?" Peter's question earned a look of complete disgust from Rachel. _

_ "Do you not remember- has it somehow slipped your mind that we used to _defend_ people, that it was my _job_ to defend _you_ and your subjects- how can you even say that!"_

_ "Well, of course defending people in trouble is necessary, but- " Peter tried to hastily back out of the situation while Edmund somberly watched the verbal battle between the other two. And then Peter struck himself a killing blow. "But Rachel, you're just a girl, against five boys, that's just . . ."_

_ "_What_?" Rachel asked, sparks practically visible shooting from her skin. "You- I could beat you, both of you, at the same time, for God's sake! I am a better fighter than you ever will be, Peter, don't you dare call me 'just a girl'! I can damn well take care of myself against any puny school boys who push me far enough-" She rose halfway out of her seat on Edmund's bed, her arm drawn back, fist aimed straight at Peter's face. She expelled at great breath of air and strode out the bedroom door. _

She never regretted that fight. She had gone up against too many to properly trounce them, yet if she were sparring, with little possibility of fatal injury, she preferred to fight against a group who could eventually take her down- that way she would not panic if it happened in a true battle. She remembered the feel of the branch in her hand, reminding her of Ally, her tried and true scimitar, the whoosh as she whacked it into one of the ruffian's stomachs. Her knuckles bruising as she punched one in the jaw, then backhanded another in the face, to trip a fourth, knee another where it hurt, then high-kick a fist aimed at her and then a stomach, dragged an arm behind a back . . . she had recalled what pleasure her duties had brought her. And it was glorious. No doubt the school boys she had fought had been put off by her maniacal grins and the chuckles she voiced as she struck and was hit herself. She was smiling as she relived it while dozing off against the sand . . .


	2. Chapter 2

Again she awoke too early in the morning, the pale yellow sunlight of dawn glancing off the beach she had ended up asleep on, making her eyes smart. She trotted to the cold water streaming into the ocean to bathe her sleepy face. She paced along the beach for what felt like hours, though she knew from the sun that it was only one hour at most. She learned that the peninsula on which Cair Paravel had been built was now an island, separated from the mainland by a fordable creek. On her way back, when she was about a mile from the beach directly below the Cair, her ears detected the regular splashes of oars from a rowboat. Shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand, she gazed out at the ocean, quickly spying two armoured soldiers with a small prisoner- a child, or a dwarf? she wondered. Whoever it was, he or she was bound tightly- Rachel watched in shock as the two men heaved their prisoner overboard and proceeded to row away. Cursing, she threw off her sword belts and sprinted to the water to throw herself in, praying she could swim fast enough to save whoever it was. Mentally damning the salt water, she winced as she was forced to open her eyes under the ocean. Relief and glee flooded her heart when she recognized a stocky form attempting to kick its way to the surface- attempting and failing, that is. Grabbing his or her clothing, she dragged the person through the water, gasping in lungfuls of blissful air when her head broke the surface. She glanced about for a split second to make sure the soldiers were not a threat before hauling the dwarf- for it was a dwarf, a male Red Dwarf- back to the beach. He sputtered and coughed as they stumbled up onto the wet sand, shaking his head like a soaked dog; Rachel was forced to crack a grin while retrieving and belting her weapons back on.

"Are you all right?" she queried, as she cut the ropes holding the dwarf's ankles and wrists together with her straight dagger.

"Hmph. Thanks", the dwarf muttered gruffly, shaking the ropes off his person.

"No problem", she replied, an amused impish smirk forcing itself onto her face. "And by the way, I'm Rachel." She held out her hand.

"Trumpkin." Silence. Then- "What's a little girl doing alone on this beach carrying around her father's sword?"

Rachel smirked with amusement. She was used to being treated as less than she was. While Peter, Edmund, and probably even Susan would have gone off at being called 'little' and accused of bearing their parents' weapons, she had always been underestimated. Short, soft, and innocent-looking, Rachel was only intimidating when she started attacking someone with her appalling speed and strength. "Just out for a walk", she replied. Trumpkin glanced up at her suspiciously, but seemed to be assuaged by her purposefully childlike smile. "So- what were they trying to drown you for? Who were those soldiers, anyway?"

"Telmarines, obviously-" He anwswered with a shrug.

"What? Why are Telmarines doing in Narnia?" Confused and concerned, Rachel halted. Trumpkin kept walking, brought up short when he realized she was no longer beside him.

"What're you doing back there? And what d'you mean, Telmarines in Narnia? This is Telmar. Narnia hasn't existed for nearly a thousand years . . . not to say there aren't a few of us who still call ourselves Narnians."

Rachel groaned. "_Great. _By the Lion, _really?_ And why Telmarines? Peter is going to go crazy when he hears . . . Suppose I should've expected everything not to've stayed the same, but still-"

"_What'_s changed? It's been like this for a thousand years- given, it's not to say it isn't despicable, what happened, but it isn't exactly a surprise."

"Oh- nothing." Rachel decided that anyone in their right mind would not believe her if she told them she and the monarchs from more than a millennium ago were currently camping out in the the ruins of their ancient palace. But there wasn't really any other explanation for what they were doing here or who they were . . . "My friends and I are just a bit- out of the loop -you might say." The dwarf looked at her as if worried for her sanity. She decided to let the sovereigns deal with what to tell him, and continued to lead Trumpkin toward the camp.

"Wait here, please?" She asked him, with two hundred metres to spare on the path up the cliff to the ruins. "I just need a quick minute with my friends- to explain things to them."

"Alright," Trumpkin shrugged, taking a seat on a nearby boulder. He took out his pipe and lit it, twitching an amused smile onto Rachel's lips.

She trotted up the rest of the path, slowly so as not to be out of breath when she reached the ruins. Three of them were still asleep, Peter under a tree, Susan and Edmund still in the circle they had first dozed off in. Only Lucy was missing, though Rachel felt no worry about the youngest queen; she had always been safe so close to home. She might even be simply looking for breakfast, or beginning to gather provisions, as had been the plan for the day.

Rachel went to the tree Peter slept under. It was a middle-aged silver birch, brightly reflecting the morning sunlight. She smiled sadly down at her sleeping king and knelt at his side, slowly brushing blonde locks away from his forehead. The gentle touch, however, awakened some defensive instinct in him; Peter grabbed her wrist in a painfully strong grip while unsheathing Rhindon with his other hand. However, Rachel's combat skill were in no way dormant, so by the time the blade was naked in his hand, she had him pinned on the ground with one knee, her free hand holding his sword arm to the ground above his head.

"Oops. Sorry," she apologized, heartfelt shame on her face. She let him up gently and he released her wrist, which was bruising, only to slide his fingers up to her face. She looked down, but he pulled he chin up to look into her eyes- and then pulled her into a tight embrace.

It felt so good to be in his arms again, his breath on her ear, her face pressed against his neck . . . so perfect and familiar. She smiled blissfully into his skin, forgetting everything that had happened in the year past. For this moment, they were High King Peter and his General and Defender, Rachel. They were partners, in every sense of the word.

"I'm sorry about storming off last night," he murmured into her hair.

"It's okay. You had every right to. I did- tell you off, I guess."

"And- and I suppose . . . you were right to. I _will_ try to remember how a king acts. It's been so long . . ."

"I know." She pulled apart to look at his face. "But we're _here_ now. We're home. No matter what home may be like now." Rachel smiled hopefully, and Peter responded by leaning in and giving her a firm, sweet kiss that left them both dreamy-eyed for a few seconds.

"There are other people here . . . " Edmund's dry voice caused them to spring apart.

"Oh! Right." Rachel jumped up guiltily.

"Oh, come on Ed, you know you're used to it . . . hey, why are you soaked?" Peter asked in confusion.

"Well . . . alright, so I was walking on the beach this morning and I- came across this dwarf." Rachel looked carefully at Peter, and then around at Edmund and Susan, both of whom were now sitting up.

"_What?_" Was Ed's response.

"Well, there were these two soldiers in a rowboat, and it turns out they were Telmarines-"

"Wait, what? What d'you mean they were Telmarines, what are Telmarine soldiers doing in Narnia?" asked Peter angrily.

"Peter, it would be really helpful if you'd let me finish. I'm just saying." Rachel raised her eyebrows pointedly.

"Sorry, sorry . . ."

"Okay, so they were trying to drown the dwarf and I jumped in and got him- they didn't see me- but yeah, he's waiting on the path for us to come and talk to him. But Peter, wait-"

The young man had jumped up and started toward the path the moment she had told him where the dwarf was. "What?" he asked in consternation.

"Peter, please sit down and listen to me. Don't go crazy when I tell you, promise? Look, just sit down?" He looked suspicious and worried, but he took a seat between Edmund and Susan, laying a sheathed Rhindon across his knees. Rachel sat in front of the three of them.

"Alright. So the political situation in Narnia . . . is that there isn't- it isn't- really a country anymore.

"What d'you mean, it isn't a country anymore?!" Lucy stepped through the woods behind Rachel to plop down beside the older girl, brown eyes smoldering with fear and anger. Rachel put her face in her hands for a moment while the Pevensies gazed open-mouthed at her. Rachel put a hand on Lucy's shoulder and spoke earnestly to her monarchs.

"It's been more than a _thousand years_ since we were here. In that time, Telmar conquered Narnia. According to Trumpkin- that's the dwarf- there are a few who still call themselves Narnians. But that's it."

"So . . . what are we supposed to do? For Narnia? If it doesn't even exist anymore . . . " Lucy asked, her glittering eyes betraying her heartbreak. Edmund came to sit next to the young girl, his arms around her.

"There must be some reason we were brought back", Peter spoke decisively. "Perhaps this dwarf can shed some light on the matter. Rachel? Would you take us to him?"

She nodded, and the five donned their weapons in a now hostile country to head down the path.

Trumpkin, his back to them, was still enjoying his pipe when the five humans came down the path.

"Took you long enough," he called out as he turned at the sound of their footsteps crunching in the leaves. "Hah! More kids! Thought you'd have a parent with you at least."

"Eh . . . yes", Rachel replied uncertainly as the three eldest Pevensies bristled. Peter stepped forward aggressively, thrusting out his hand to be shaken.

"I am High King Peter, the Magnificent." Trumpkin sniggered. Peter looked enraged. He drew Rhindon, and Rachel sighed deeply. This was not going well. But Peter took a deep breath, and continued. "These are my royal siblings, King Edmund the Just and the Queens Susan the Gentle and Lucy the Valiant. I believe you have already met our Defender, General Rachel Lona.

"Wait- are you joking? Don't tell me- you're it?"

"We're what?" Susan queried, stepping forward.

"The Kings and Queens of Old and their warrior protector, the ones who were s'possed to answer that damn horn . . . you're a bunch of kids?"

"_My_ horn?" Susan asked. Trumpkin slapped his forehead.

"And we're doomed." He continued to shake his head.

"We might not be as powerless as you might think!" Peter cried, his eyes snapping. He lowered his sword at the dwarf, and Trumpkin chuckled.

"You really don't want to do that, boy," though he looked eager at the challenge.

Something changed in Peter's sparking eyes. "Not me. Him." Peter handed Rhindon to Trumpkin, nodding at Edmund.

"_What?_" Rachel then clamped her mouth shut- and then she turned to Peter. "Why does _Ed_ get to fight?" Peter looked surprised.

"Well", he began quietly, "I was trying to make a point of the younger one-"

"I'm a freaking _girl, _ Pete."

"Oh. Yes. Well, you can fight him then, I suppose."

Rachel whirled around, beaming at Trumpkin. She then turned to Edmund and pointed at herself, receiving a shrug followed by a nod in response.

"Come hither then, my good dwarf. Let's go up to the ruins. There's some flat, open ground up there, perfect for sparring." Trumpkin just shook his head in disbelief.

"I don't want to hurt a girl", he told her as they were squaring off in front of the four crumbing thrones.

"Don't you worry about it", Rachel assured him. "We aren't fighting to the death here. Though that would be easier . . . "Trumpkin gave her his 'are-you-insane' look again. "Well I'm just saying, it's always faster if you get to kill your opponent, because if it's just to make them submit, you have to be careful not to hurt them . . . nevermind." Rachel decided that Trumpkin would get that look stuck on his face if she kept talking, so she simply drew her scimitar and looked to Edmund to call the duel as started.

"En guarde! . . . and- fight!"

Rachel generally waited for her opponents to make the first move. Competitive and aggressive she may have been, but she was also smart, and allowing herself to be attacked first gave her insight into her opponent's weaknesses without giving up any of her own. Sure enough, Trumpkin came toward her, a concerned expression on his face. 'He doesn't want to hurt me . . . ' she recalled. The dwarf raised his blade to chop across, but barely after he had even changed the direction of the borrowed Rhindon, she swung up to parry, and then arced up for another cross-cut. He parried her that time, then cut at her calves. She jumped to avoid it, but instead of jumping up, she went forward, landing on one knee, slamming her scimitar down to both hold Rhindon close against his chest and allow the edge of her blade to touch the skin above his jugular.

"Hmph," Rachel sighed. "That was so short . . . oh well." Trumpkin was staring at her. He still looked like he thought she was insane, but he had also gained respect for the human girl.

Rachel glanced up at the Pevensies. Susan was shaking her head while Peter and Edmund stood together, chuckling at the duel, which had lasted approximately thirty seconds. Peter looked up, catching her eye. He smiled at her, a deep, true smile, that lit his face from the inside out. She found herself walking to his side, her blade sheathed on her back. "Thanks," she whispered, as Edmund went over to speak with Trumpkin and Lucy.

"Like you say, it's what you're made for . . . hahah! -but remember those first few years? Orieus said he'd never seen someone so awful with a blade." The blond king chuckled again.

"Oh, by quiet, you bully-" But he pulled her into a headlock and pressed a impudent kiss to her cheek, drawing a startled giggle out of Rachel. She slapped his arm in response as he released her, laughing again.

"So, Trumpkin. What can we help with? We were brought back for a reason, and we were hoping you had some idea as to what that reason is." Edmund stated bluntly.

"Are there enough Narnians left to create an army, to overthrow the Telmarine king?" was Peter's question.

"That's just it. We need help. There is an army, and we've been trying to overthrow that tyrant of a ruler, Miraz, but the Telmarines have more men, more resources . . . " Trumpkin looked uncertainly around at the five humans.

"Well, we're here. Surely Aslan will help us all now." Lucy smiled in her certainty.

"Lu, I'm not sure it's going to work the same way it did last time . . . ", Susan interjected.

"So, what's been happening exactly?" Rachel asked.

"Yes, and why did you blow Su's horn, anyway, if you didn't want our help to fight the Telamarines?" Peter added righteously.

"_I_ wasn't the one who blew it!" Trumpkin seemed angered by their assumption. "'Was some Telmarine boy, bein' chased by his own soldiers. I was captured, taken to the castle- and from what I heard of the Telmarines talking, it was Prince Caspian- the heir to the Telmarine throne- who blew your horn. And he was prob'ly runnin' away from the soldiers 'cause his uncle's tryin' to have him killed."

"Wait-"

"What?" The confused responses echoed around the group.

"Erm, could you please explain that a bit more?" Lucy pleaded.

"Yeah, sorry. You people really have no idea what's going on, do you?" The dwarf seemed tickled by this fact.

"Well, no. Having been gone for a thousand years, we don't have the best grip on local politics," Edmund replied dryly.

"Right. So, the country is ruled, right now, by the Lord Protector Miraz. The son of the King, Prince Caspian, is the heir to the throne, but Miraz is a power-hungry tyrant who wants to keep the throne for him and his. His wife just had a baby- a boy- so he wants the heir of the throne out of the way so his line can be kings, instead of Caspian. At least, that's what I'm guessing."

The four monarchs and Rachel stared at Trumpkin, perplexed.

"Alright," Edmund said slowly, always the first to grasp any complex political situation, "Does this Caspian know about the Narnians? Does he . . . support them, what they're for?"

"Dunno."

"Well, that's helpful," Susan drawled sarcastically. Trumpkin shot Susan a glare.

"I never met the kid, alright?"

Susan shrugged.

"He's with Narnians now, at any rate. At least that's who he was with when I was captured," Trumpkin added.

"We should go to them. The Narnians who have Caspian," Rachel clarified, her expression set.

"Rachel . . ." Susan protested.

"She's right," Edmund agreed. Rachel smiled at him and the two knocked their forearms together to make an 'X'. It was a symbol of solidarity between the three fighters of the five, and Edmund and Rachel possessed a special, close friendship. Each knew what was to be always second to Peter; they had spent countless hours training and fighting side by side, and, though it may have seemed trivial to others, Edmund made people laugh, and Rachel loved to laugh even more than she loved to fight.

"I concur," was Peter input, though he seemed irked by Rachel and Edmund's initial promotion of the idea. Lucy was beaming at the thought of meeting more Narnians. Since her realization that the companions from their reign were long gone, she had sorely missed her Narnian friends, and this promised to introduce her to many new potential friends.

"Alright." Susan, happy that everyone was in agreement, was eager to plan their trip. "We must get our food together, and perhaps some extra clothing? And how are we to bring all your armour?" she asked, turning to Peter, Edmund, and Rachel.

"Oh! I forgot to tell you- " Rachel suddenly remembered, "The peninsula- it's an island now. There's only a stream separating it from the mainland, but we'll definitely have to go through water to get to it. I'm not sure how deep it is, but I expect everyone except for maybe Peter will have to swim."

"You might have mentioned it before. That presents a serious problem for transportation!" Susan cried.

"We've been a bit preoccupied, sister", Peter reminded her, while Lucy took her hand.

"Come on", the younger queen cajoled, "Let's find out if we can find some sort of waterproof container in the treasury." Susan allowed herself to be led away by her sister, leaving the others near the thrones.

"We should help them", Rachel said hesitantly. She turned, followed by Ed. As she glanced back, Peter and Trumpkin sat and began to talk. She shrugged and turned back towards the treasury, but stopped at a hand holding her shoulder. Edmund turned her to face him. His dark eyes stared deep into her green ones. He nodded.

"Thank you. For doing whatever you did to him. He's not the same as he was- before . . ." Ed turned to glance at Peter, deep in conversation with the red Dwarf, his back to them, "but he's better than he has been. I know you had something to do with it."

"I just talked to him, Ed."

"You said something that the rest of us couldn't. It helped a bit." He clapped her on the back and the pair of friends turned and went to help the two queens.

The problem was solved by the evening. Provisions had been gathered, as well as the three warriors' armour and weapons, and all had been carefully placed in a trunk that had lain in the treasury. Though it was heavy, it was water-proof, and Edmund, Peter, and Rachel were confident that the three of them could swim while holding it floating above the water.

The six ate a dinner of apples and fish. Everyone was very tired of apples. The night was long for Lucy, for she could not sleep on the ground that had been so soft the previous two nights. She kept hearing whispers in the trees, only to look up and find it was windless, and there were still no dryads moving about. She thought she was still awake when a soft rumbling voice rolled out of the woods. It called to her and she rose, knowing it meant her no harm. Now out of sight of her sleeping companions, she called out,"Hello? Who are you?"

"Why Lucy, do you not remember my voice?" it gently chided. Lucy felt instantly ashamed and dismayed, but still, she could not figure out who it might be. The trees around her were suddenly moving in a graceful, joyous dance. A smile broke upon her face; the dryads were waking! A stand of willows moved aside to reveal a soft golden glow around a huge, resplendent lion.

"Aslan!" She rushed to him, burying her face and hands in his sweet silky fur, glee and deep happiness contenting her soul. "Aslan, will you come see the others? They would all love to see you."

"No, dear one. I called to your eldest brother; he did not hear. I called to you, and you came. You must go west Lucy, tell the others, go west . . . " and Lucy woke with a gasp. She rolled over and fell back asleep, two tears sliding down her cheeks, for she had been ripped away from the one she loved most.

"Lu?" Peter called out in a whisper. "'You alright?" He had been woken by the soft noises of distress from where she had been sleeping.

"Fine. I'm fine. Peter?"

"Yes?"

"What direction are we to go when we leave the ruins?"

"Um," Peter responded blearily, "South, up the coastline- why?"

"We should go west. Inland."

"Lu, why do you say that?"

Lucy rolled over and said sleepily, "Aslan told me. 'Said 'go west, Lucy'," and she fell back to sleep, leaving Peter awake to wonder.

Rachel awoke to midmorning light; she had finally been able to sleep past dawn. She smiled, sleepily but happily, rolling over to rest her head against Peter's chest. He yawned and put an arm over her, curling up to put his cheek right above her head. "'Morning," she mumbled, and sighed.

"We should get up."

"I know . . . " and she slowly uncurled, giving herself a little shake to wake herself up, rising to her feet as she did so, Peter's arm dropping softly back to the ground.

"I didn't mean right now," he whined, a smile on his lips, eyes still closed. They opened when Rachel drew her sword, trying a few passes to loosen up. "What're you doing?"

"Practicing. 'Might get to use this some time soon." She glanced down at him with a grin, then offered her hand to help him up. He reached behind himself, then leapt up with a shout, raising the gleaming unsheathed Rhindon in attack.

Susan, Lucy, Trumpkin, and Edmund were jolted awake by shouted challenges, laughter, and the sharp clanging of steel on steel.

"Is that really necessary?" Susan asked disapprovingly. Lucy just giggled, and Trumpkin shook his head in confused resignation. Edmund, on the other hand, grabbed his blade.

"Hey Peter, Rachel! Can't a chap get in on a decent fight?"

"Ed- ah!" he grunted as Rachel whacked his hip with the flat of her blade, "Sorry mate, it'd be too uneven."

"Hah! I'll take you both on. C'mon Ed, help your brother out, I need the challenge!" she cried, grinning. "Wait, just let me get my buckler." Peter stopped long enough for her to slip the straps over her left forearm and pull out her dagger with the same limb. Now armed with a long and a short blade, as well as the buckler, she faced off against the two taller boys. Ed went in first, fresh and breathing easy, having not fought yet. This was followed by a lightening fast series of slashes, chops and parries, after which Edmund was knocked back with a blow from Rachel's buckler. Peter moved in and was met by raining blows but no parries- she had employed her buckler to block them, leaving her scimitar free to place at the High King's neck, signaling him 'out'. Edmund recovered quickly, however, and just as Rachel had gotten rid of Peter, Ed had almost gotten his longsword to touch her back, but she spun and parried with massive force, almost knocking the blade out of the youngest king's hand. Edmund evened the odds when Peter threw Rhindon to him, hilt first. Armed with two long blades, he was now a more formidable opponent. After some risky fast back and forth motions and hits between the two, Rachel was forced to spin, thrusting the buckler, with Ed's sword still on it from his slash at her, over her head. High kicking the wrist that held his longsword, she caused him to drop it, wincing. He countered with a powerful series of blows that drove her back to a stand of rocks. Stepping up on one, Rachel gained higher ground. Delivering a hard blow with the scimitar, she jumped off the rock, hitting Ed in the chest with the buckler and hooking her ankle behind his, she caused him to fall backward onto his rear. She trapped his sword arm on the ground, holding it there with her buckler, her scimitar placed down the center of his chest, its tip at his throat.

Rachel sheathed her blade and helped Edmund up. Both were panting heavily, drops of sweat rolling off their foreheads. "Whew! Good one, Ed."

"Thanks." They knocked forearms as Peter picked Edmund's longsword up off the ground and came towards them, smiling.

"Well, I don't think we've completely forgotten how to fight," he remarked, offering apples to both of them.

"Well, me and Ed haven't", Rachel shot back mischievously. Peter just shook his head.

"So, Rachel, reckon you can still chuck a knife?"

"I hope so . . ." the girl shrugged. She hadn't found her bandolier-style leather sash of five throwing knives and sheathes in the treasury. It had been an integral part of her fighting gear and had saved many lives before, on the battlefield, most often Peter's. He just tended to be the target of archers and kamikaze type individuals; people who could only be stopped quickly enough and from a distance by fast-moving sharp objects that permanently interrupted the flow of blood to their brains.

They moved out at midmorning, the sun halfway to its zenith. They stone chest was extremely heavy, the three fighters employing every ounce of strength and determination they had to get it across the wide stream mouth, their muscles feeling as though they were screaming in protest as they reached the opposite shore, all three grunting and sighing under the weight. Then, when it was across, the three, though shaking from fatigue, were forced to don their heavy battle armour, pushing on along the beach. It was in the coppery light of late evening that the six finally halted. They had trudged south all day, Lucy helplessly frustrated in the back of their group. She knew that the only person who realized why was Peter, for she had told none other. He had explained to her that the going was much easier on the coastline, without the problem of cutting through underbrush, which would have been a definite challenge presented by a westward course through the thick Western Woods of Edmund's domain.

By the middle of the afternoon, tired from their hike across the sands, they came to a huge river mouth.

"'S the River Beruna," Trumpkin grunted, glancing up at Peter.

"Oh."

Everyone except for Lucy felt like screaming; a whole day had been wasted traveling south on the beach, and the six had to turn inland now, to look for a place to cross the river. The youngest child, however, only gazed up at her older brother, wisdom and disappointment flooding out of her eyes. Peter grimaced, refusing to reply.

"I guess we'll have to brave the woods from here," was his only regretful statement. They all turned west, plodding along the muddy riverbank until the sun faded and twilight sunk into the forest. They found a small, damp clearing to sleep in, and flopped down, devouring a quick dinner before Susan, Trumpkin, Lucy, and Peter fell asleep. Edmund and Rachel sat back to back, silent, neither knowing the other was thinking the same thoughts. Finally, Rachel decided to express her doubts. She would have told no one else, but she and Edmund were so comfortable together and accustomed to each other's presence that it seemed almost as if their was no one else to listen but another part of their consciousness, something constant, whose opinion was valued just as much, if not more, than their own. This closeness was bred from long campaigns, where they either shared the burden of supporting and loving Peter, or Peter was left at Cair Paravel, because of injury, or because he, as the High King, was needed to govern and be the diplomat, while the younger king and his general fought and led, side by side.

"Hey Ed?" She leaned her head backward onto his shoulder. "Do you think- ummm . . . so- so I sort of overheard Lucy and Peter talking."

"Me too."

"_What?_ Why didn't you say anything?" She sat back up, but couldn't move to face the dark-haired king because Lucy's head was pillowed on her outstretched legs. She breathed out a sigh in frustration.

"Why didn't you?"

"Huh?"

"Why didn't _you_ say anything?" Edmund's voice accused.

"I should have." The girl looked down and brushed Lucy's fringe off her forehead. "I should have for Lucy. She was right, I believe that she saw Him. If any of us would've, it would be her. Were you awake too?"

"Yeah."

"We're bad friends- advidors- I dunno what- for this. We should've done something, made Peter change his mind."

"Maybe . . . I'm not sure he would have listened to me. Or you. He's pretty pig-headed about . . . everything, right now."

Rachel just nodded against his head. "Well, we're going the right way now. Even if we did lose a day."

"True."

"Yeah . . . g'night, Ed."

"'Night, Rachel."


	3. Chapter 3

They were fighting their way down the bank the following morning when Lucy stopped. Her small face lit up with joy. "It's Aslan, it's Aslan!" she cried. "Just look, he's right there, right over- there . . . " Her outstretched fingers pointed to the opposite bank, but there was nothing but a flowering bush in the spot she indicated.

"Er, Lu . . . " Susan started.

"He's not there anymore, Su. I'm not crazy, I'm not seeing things, but he _was_ there! And he wants us to go that way, I'm sure of it. Peter, please!" Her pleading gaze towards her eldest brother caused Rachel and Edmund to share a quick glance. They looked to Peter to gauge his reaction.

"Lucy, are you sure?" The blonde king seemed reluctant and unsure.

"Peter . . . " Rachel said softly. He bent towards her to hear her words. "She was right last time. Maybe you should listen."

Peter's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. "H- how did you know?"

"She's right, Pete." Edmund stepped up next to them.

"W-" Peter just stared at his brother and defender.

Lucy, meanwhile, had been trying to get as close to where Aslan had been as she could without falling into the river, which had turned into white rapids seething down a high gorge as they had walked through the morning. "He was right there, I'm telling you, Susan . . ."

"Lucy, do be careful- Lucy!" At Susan's scream, Edmund, Peter, and Rachel whirled around,

"Lucy?"

"Lu!"

"I'm fine, you lot. Look! See?" The girl stood on a path leading in a steep zigzag down the gorge wall. "We _are_ meant to go this way!"

Rachel and Edmund shared a smile, and the six proceeded down Lucy's path.

Getting up the other side of the gorge proved to be more difficult, slippery rocks and scree giving the children and dwarf all their fair share of scrapes, scratches, and bruises. Having finally ascended the cliff, the six took a break, gulping from their canteens and gazing about at their surroundings. The woods seemed thinner on the western side of the River Beruna, low ferns covering the ground between mature ash and cedar trunks. It was altogether a drier, sunnier place. Breathing in the sweet Narnian air, all the children had regained much of their former strength. Peter, Edmund, and Rachel strolled jauntily abreast, the queens behind them, with Trumpkin guarding the rear while holding a conversation with Lucy. The forest seemed warm even after the sun had set. Rachel and Peter gathered wood and started a fire while Edmund borrowed Susan's bow, returning after less than an hour with young doe dragging behind him. Edmund had always been almost strangely lucky when hunting; it was a small part of why he had been such good friends with the wolf packs of his Western Wood.

As the fire died down, Rachel and Peter finished off the last of the roasted venison. Edmund was sucking on a bone; his table manners had certainly suffered from spending so much time with the wolves, a fact Susan and Peter constantly bemoaned.

"You look ridiculous." Rachel snickered, and Edmund threw the bone at her.

"Hahah- hey!" She batted it away.

"Shut up. 'Tastes good. You know, I wonder if there are any wolf packs in the Narnians that are still around. They'd be a great help."

"Hmph. You just want someone who thinks your eating habits come anywhere close to socially acceptable." Peter nodded knowingly, and Edmund pushed him off the log he'd perched on.

"Yeah, well I bet you wish there's a unicorn so you can have someone around who's actually more obsessed with the way he looks than you are."

"You didn't-" Peter gasped. Edmund just grinned. Rachel collapsed into a fit of giggles as the two boys tussled. After a minute, Peter sat triumphantly on the younger king's chest. "Say it!"

"Never! Not if you torture within an inch of- mph! Peter!" Peter was grinning maniacally while attempting to stuff dirt into his brother's mouth. "Fine! Fine, fine- I said I'd say it Peter, stop feeding me- blech!" He spat mud out of his mouth. "I'm going to be tasting dirt all night, now, you great lump of-"

"Magnificence?" Peter tried to hold in his laughter. "Hey! Come back here, you-" Edmund sprinted out of the camp, tailed by Peter, after having spat dirt into the older boy's hair. Rachel continued to chuckle while jogging after them.

Her laughter died away as darkness swallowed the boys and the light from their fire faded. The crashing of the two kings in front of her stopped suddenly with a hushed "Sshh!" She crept up behind the pair, putting a hand on Ed's elbow to keep from startling him.

"What is it?" Her lips were centimetres from Ed's ear, voice barely audible. The dark-haired boy merely held a finger to his lips. She took a deep breath and listened; sure enough, slight crackles from the forest floor sounded in front of the three. They spread to either side of whoever it was, following him or her for only a few more metres until they reached a broad moonlit clearing, which appeared somehow familiar, before creature was revealed in the silvery light. It was a young man with rather long, straight dark hair. He wore armour of metal-studded leather bearing a stamp of a compass and crown; the device of Telmar's flag. Rachel could have sworn she jumped a foot into the air as Peter let out a blood-curdling battle cry of, _"Narnia!"_

Twin rings of swords being unsheathed and the two boys were duelling. It was a fast fight, each possessing considerable skill, speed, and strength. Peter seemed murderous, his face contorted into a snarling grimace, his blows almost clumsy in their aggressiveness. The Telmarine was shocked, his face betraying fear, as well as anger due to his surprise at the attack. They had disarmed each other, all within mere seconds, when a young girl's voice screamed, "Peter!" They paused, panting, Peter holding a rock, his opponent brandishing raised fists.

"Lucy!" Edmund gasped.

"You followed us?" Rachel demanded. The queen ignored them both, stepping forward into the clearing.

"Who are you?" She asked the question softly, pacing towards the Telmarine without a hint of trepidation.

"I-" The young man panted, "I am Prince Caspian."

"Oh! Well, we've been looking for you, you know!" The dark-haired little girl smiled and proffered her small white hand. Caspian was dumbstruck. Still virtually frightened out of his wits from the completely unexpected attack, he slowly uncurled a fist and reached out, but the girl was pushed roughly aside by another- the fair-haired boy he had been fighting only moments ago. Peter, the girl had said his name, and Peter . . . He put his fists back up automatically, brain going into overdrive. Peter, the name was so familiar- of course it was! The strange name of a king of old, Peter the Magnificent, High King during the Golden Age of Narnia, he remembered. He also recalled the young Queen Lucy the Valiant, and Lucy was what the other boy had called her, a boy dark-haired as King Edmund the Just was depicted in the ancient tapestries and paintings shown to him by Doctor Cornelius. And the girl behind Peter, she was perhaps Queen Susan, the Gentle? Perhaps not . . . she did not possess the luminescent beauty which Susan was known for. Her stocky build and protective stance . . . the Defender, General Lona, then?

"Wh- what . . . who are you?" He gazed before him at the strangely dressed people, mind awhirl with impossible thoughts. Could the horn have actually worked? Just as the thought flashed into consciousness, a striking beauty emerged into the moonlight, followed by a Red Dwarf. Susan- it _had_ to be.

"What have you all-" The dark-haired beauty started. She froze when she laid eyes on Caspian. "What on earth- Peter?" Her gaze settled on the blonde boy in front of him. Peter spared her a glance, then turned back to Caspian.

"I am High King Peter, the Magnificent." His voice rang with the proud declaration. Caspian's mouth fell open.

"Oh my- it truly worked? You- you are the Kings and Queens of Old?" He took an involuntary step back and then fell to one knee, utterly awed by the five legends that now stood in front of him in the flesh.

"No need to kneel!" The young girl, Queen Lucy, stepped brightly forward. "You're to be a King, so don't bow to your equals. Never proper, that- and I'm Lucy." Her elder brother, _the_ _High King Peter himself!_ Caspian thought with recurring shock, looked down at her, gaze laced with disapproval. Lucy motioned at him to stand. He did so with hesitation. The dark-haired beauty- Queen Susan, she proclaimed herself, - came toward him, her eyes lit with understanding and amusement. He took her proffered hand and kissed it, as he would with any court lady. The younger boy cleared his throat.

"I'm Edmund." He shook Caspian's hand, tone suspicious, though Caspian realised it was due to the greeting he had given the king's sister rather than any hate or fear directed at the prince. The High King continued to stare at him with something approaching severe dislike, but spun when another female voice echoed out of the woods.

"Stop trying to burn a hole through the poor boy with you eyes, Pete." She strode forward, shaking her head, then tipping it toward Caspian. "I'm Rachel, by the way- dunno if you expected me, but, well, here I am." She shrugged, a grin glimmering on her lips.

The Red Dwarf stumped forward- and Caspian finally recognised him. "Hey- Trumpkin! You found them, I never thought-"

"Me neither, me neither. Now, where is everyone?"

Trumpkin winced as the prince relayed the news; things were going badly for the Narnians. They had been forced to retreat on all fronts, numbers greatly reduced from pitched battles and ambushes alike, all of which had been lost to Telmar. Caspian himself had been hunting, as were many others, in order to stockpile Aslan's How; they expected a siege to begin what would be their last stand. The dwarf gazed hopelessly back at the four monarchs and their defender. Under better circumstances they would have been a great asset, but with the free Narnians so few in number, even morale such as the five could provide would not be enough for there to be even a chance of prevailing over the Telmarines. Worst of all, the centaur general Glenstorm who, along with Caspian, had commanded the misfit army, had been grievously injured in a recent raid, could be dead even now.

"He's in a very bad way," Caspian was saying sadly. "Hit right through the gut with a crossbow bolt, and another in the hock. The healers said he'd be lucky to live out the night, and I left the How a day ago-"

Lucy, who had been walking behind the dwarf and prince as they headed back to the children's and dwarf's camp, rushed up to them upon hearing this.

"Then we must hurry! There's a chance he's alive, if I get to him in time- Peter!" She called back to her brother.

"Yes, Lu?" Meanwhile, Caspian and Trumpkin had halted and were staring in confusion at Lucy.

"Er, pardon me, you Majesty-" Caspian began hesitantly.

"It's Lucy, just Lucy," she interjected.

"Yes, Lucy, well how- how would you save Glenstorm? I mean to say, with no offence intended-"

"My cordial! Surely you- oh, never mind. I've cordial that heals any injury." Caspian and Trumpkin gazed skeptically at the half-empty bottle she held up. Peter had quickened his step and arrived at Lucy's side; she turned and stared beseechingly up at him.

"What's up, Lu?" Caspian saw that the King of Old was still on his guard, and didn't miss the surreptitious look that the blonde boy shot at Caspian over his sister's head.

"Peter, the awful thing- a centaur- Glenstorm?" She turned back to Caspian for confirmation and he nodded. "Glenstorm is in a very bad way, and if we could just get to the Stone Table- would it be possible to run? Maybe not everyone, but he could die, Peter, if I don't get there in time!" Peter sighed. His sister's worry for those she had never even met was, at times, a trait he wished she did not possess.

"We're still more than twelve miles from the How, and- you're sure he's in that much danger?" Caspian nodded uncertainly- "but- all right." Peter quickly thought over how to best reach the Table. It was a fair distance to run, but Ed and Rachel could do it without a problem. He was no distance runner himself, but the two of them used to go for hours when the mood had struck one or both of them. There was no way Lucy could run that far, but she could give her cordial to Ed. He would have them both go; he did not fancy anyone he cared about going off alone in the dark in enemy-infested territory. "Lucy, would you give your cordial to Ed? He and Rachel could reach the Table the fastest, if you really want to save this centaur." Her face fell a bit, but she was dead set on it.

"Of course, of course, but- do they know how to get there? To the Stone Table?"

"Yes, Ed- well . . . perhaps not. The country has changed." He bit his lip. The observation had completely spoiled his plans.

"Peter, what about Trumpkin?"

"Of course!" He recalled that dwarfs were nearly always good runners. Certainly not sprinters, but they could keep a decent pace up for a whole day. "Rachel, Ed!" The pair trotted up to him. "Take off your armour, you'll be running to the Stone Table from here." They stared at him with incredulous confusion.

"What?"

"And why?"

Peter gestured to Lucy. "There's a centaur there who needs Lu's cordial. Trumpkin?" The dwarf strode around Caspian to join them. "Could you run with these two to the Table?"

"The How, you mean?" His bushy eyebrows raised in question.

"Um- sure. I suppose the name changed over time- in any case, would you run with Ed and Rachel?"

"All right. We're leaving now?" Trumpkin responded without a blink. Peter assumed he had listened from beside Caspian, who was looking rather taken aback with what was happening.

They reached the fire and Susan apologised, with glares at Edmund, Peter, and Rachel, for their lack of food. She soon, however, had Caspian chewing an apple from the Cair, as Trumpkin, Rachel, and Edmund stripped off their outer gear, re-belting their weapons over their shirts. Edmund gingerly took the precious bottle from Lucy and fastened it where his sword used to hang. He was actually going to be going unarmed as there was no way he would be runing more than ten miles with a sword tripping him every step. Trumpkin kept his bow and quiver of arrows for they were carried on his back, and Rachel left her buckler and throwing knives, keeping her dagger as well as her scimitar, which she had always carried on her back. The three set off into the darkness, leaving Caspian with Susan, Peter, and Lucy.

For the first mile or so, Rachel and Edmund ran with smiles on their faces, for there is nothing better than running through cool night air, and if running for distance, one must travel at a pace that feels relatively easy in the beginning. Trumpkin was not one to smile for something such as running, so he was straight-faced with more of a care as to what was going on around him. He knew better than the other two what kind of danger they were in; Telmarine patrols were not uncommon around Aslan's How.

Three quarters of an hour later, Rachel panted, "How far have we gone?"

"Three miles left, maybe a bit more," Trumpkin answered. After another quarter of an hour, a rise came into view in the false dawn light that had begun to seep through the foliage. Rachel's back was chaffing from the sword belt by now, but she knew they were close. She tensed before she knew why and noticed a funny buzzing noise, ending suddenly in a woody thunk. _Arrows. _

"Down!" Trumpkin shouted. Rachel and Ed hit the forest floor not a foot apart. Trumpkin was a metre behind them. All three tried to listen over their own laboured breathing for whomever it was shooting at them. Ed pointed at the shaft protruding from a nearby tree trunk and swivelled his head 'round to look to Trumpkin.

'Telmarine,' the dwarf mouthed. Rachel raised herself up to catch a glimpse at their attackers- she counted them, eight -before Ed pulled her back down. She held up eight fingers, then slowly unsheathed her dagger to hand it to him. He took it, but stared at her, disapproval clear on his face.

"What other choice do we have?" She whispered. "They know we're here, they saw us!" He conceded with a reluctant nod. The arguing voices of men echoed over to them; they sounded close, probably less than ten metres away. The three runners retreated, as quietly as they could, behind trees, cover being absolutely essential when dealing with archers. Unfortunately it is barely possible to move around silently in a forest, especially while lying on the ground, so the eight soldiers rushed to the spot. Edmund and Trumpkin were behind a giant ash, while Rachel avoided arrows- no, bolts, from crossbows, she realised -using the the trunk of a marginally narrower oak. Drawing her scimitar, she couldn't help a small, devious grin from appearing on her face as she felt the leather of the hilt under her fingers. A twig snapped next to her tree and she lashed out with a battle cry, cutting halfway through the neck of a tall man armed with a crossbow. Blood sprayed onto her shoulder as she ducked back behind her oak, listening to the fearful _zip-thunk _of crossbow bolts as the others tried to hit her. She grimaced as she heard a man circle round the tree. Gritting her teeth, she ran out into the open. He blocked her first swing with his crossbow, but she stabbed him through the stomach on the next pass. "Aah!" She stumbled forward, her left shoulder radiating hot, unbearable pain; she was hit. Forcing herself to stumble into the retreat available behind another tree, she gasped. She could feel the terrible, chilling pull of the shaft sticking out of her back. Blinking tears out of her eyes, she clutched her scimitar with shaking fingers. Fortunately, she was right handed; she could still fight. She heard another set of footsteps beside her new tree, and screamed as she knocked the crossbow out of the way with her bad arm -_Aslan, it hurt, too much-_ and slashed across his neck, blinded for a moment as she was covered in the arterial spray; the unfortunate resulted of hitting her favourite target, the neck. Spitting out some of the coppery-tasting liquid as she literally fell back behind her cover, she chanced a glance toward the other two and saw Edmund skewer a Telmarine through the chest. How many were left? 'Please let it be none', she prayed, knowing it was unlikely to be true. She also knew she wouldn't last much longer. She let out a grating cry as she heaved herself to her feet. Already she was unsteady from blood loss and pain. A new Telmarine appeared in her field of vision and Rachel did a very stupid thing. She threw her scimitar at him, screaming once again with exertion and hurt. The blade hit him, killed him as it sliced through his leather armour and his heart, but she was now weapon-less. She stared helplessly, desperately, around at the forest, waiting for another crossbow bolt to strike her- but there were no more soldiers. She had killed- how many had she killed? She couldn't think . . . She looked around for Ed and Trumpkin and sank, involuntarily, to her knees. She spotted them, still by the huge ash, but they were crouched down- talking to someone? Ed glanced up and spotted her. He seemed, rather miraculously, unharmed. No, she realised. His eyes widened with shock and worry, and as he hurried over to her, she saw he was limping; a bolt protruded from his calf and he winced massively with every step he took. A mouse preceded him, appearing beside Rachel's knees . He carried a blood-stained rapier and wore a rather silly looking feather-topped hat. "You couldn't have helped me?" she asked him, trying to smile through the pain ripping through her shoulder. "I suppose not . . . Ed is the king, after all, and he needs to stay alive, he has the cordial . . ." Her vision was going strange and she felt very faint. _No- stop -don't faint . . . _no. No, she would _not_. She shook herself, grimacing horribly. "Who are you? I'm Rachel." She flung out her hand and the mouse touched it with a paw.

"I am Reepicheep!" He declared it with pride. She didn't possess the energy to smile anymore, so she just nodded, then gasped as she tried to use muscles attached to those in which the bolt was embedded. A warm human hand descended onto her right shoulder and Ed's face came into focus.

"He saved Trumpkin and I, he did. I was about to be gutted and- thank you again, noble mouse." Reepicheep dipped in a low bow and Ed's face disappeared. "That is not pretty, Rach'," he muttered from behind her back. She cried out when he touched the shaft. "I really think we should use Lucy's cordial," he started slowly. "We need to get to Table- er, Aslan's How- anyway, we need to travel. You can't-

"I could, my legs are fine- " She shifted and tried getting up but found Ed's hand keeping her kneeled.

"You're losing a lot of blood, Rachel, and _my_ leg _is_ injured. No buts," he interrupted as she began to protest. "_And_ we're supposed to be defeating the Telmarines, which we can't do very well if we're both incapable of fighting."

"I suppose . . . "

"I'm right, admit it. Rachel, lay down on your front. Now, Trumpkin." The dwarf, who had escaped without injury, stalked into view. He looked extremely angry, though Rachel suspected he was just trying very hard to conceal any sort of worry he felt for she and Edmund. "Hold Rachel down so she can't move." The dwarf looked uncertain, but put weight on her right shoulder and below her neck as she lowered her body, letting out a groan of pain, to the forest floor. She felt Edmund's hands settle on her, one on the bolt, the other beside it. She closed her eyes, drew a breath, and gave a blood-curdling scream, writhing uncontrollably as Ed tore the bolt out. She screamed once more- but then the drop of cordial Ed had poured onto the wound took effect. She panted, trying to catch her breath from the pain and cries.

"Gah, thanks, Ed. Your turn now." She levered herself up off the ground and turned to him, hand out-stretched for the bottle. Receiving it, she had him sit. She looked at his face and he nodded. He yelled once as she yanked out the bolt, then gasped and regained his breath as his calf healed within seconds. Rachel rose to tug her scimitar out of the chest of the soldier she had thrown it at and started to clean it on her leggings, for there was no moss or grass around to use, and her trousers were already bloody and dirt-stained.

"You look disgusting," Edmund informed Rachel as he imitated her, cleaning her dagger on his own leggings.

"I don't really care you know."

"Yep. I know." He grinned, and she smiled back. They knocked forearms and returned to Tumpkin and Reepicheep the mouse, who were talking. Trumpkin looked up as they neared.

"Glenstorm's still alive- but only just. We'd do well to hurry." Trumpkin looked uncertainly at Edmund, then Rachel.

"All right, what're we waiting for?" Edmund asked, shrugging. "Trumpkin, no offence, but we can go faster than you over short distances- which way is it?" Trumpkin gave the young king a brief explanation of paths and hills and forks, and they took off, shouting a hasty farewell to Reepicheep and the dwarf.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter chucked a new log on the fire and returned to his seat. He faced Caspian over the yellow flames, feeling the unmistakable burning of anger towards the other boy. Who was this princling? Nothing but a dirty Telmarine, an invader of his once pristine lands, an enslaver and murderer of Narnians. How dare he claim kingship over Peter's country. His disgusting accent made Peter grind his teeth- and he had the gall to call his royal sisters by their first names! He was no well-known member of the court, no equal of theirs! And just look at how he used his vile charms on the ignorant girls, making them laugh with his usurper speech. Peter rose, almost violent in his suddenness, crossing around the fire to speak to the dark-haired prince of Telmar.

"So." Caspian only stared at him dumbly, the flicker of fear in his eyes giving Peter some malicious satisfaction.

"Yes, High King Peter?" That accent! Why couldn't he speak like an honest and real Narnian? Because he was a dirty, traitorous Telmarine, that was why, come to usurp the Narnian throne.

"What are your intentions?" Peter's voice was hard and sharp as Rhindon.

"P-pardon?" Caspian, having spent the past half hour chatting genially with the rather friendly Lucy and her kind (and beautiful, very beautiful) sister, Susan, was caught completely off-guard by Peter's raw animosity.

"Your intentions, your intentions towards my country, what are they?" The accusatory tone cracked out with the sting of a whip.

"My intentions?" Caspian was vaguely confused, but he was a confidant young man, and disliked being treated as if he had committed some wrong. It had been the High King who had attacked him in the first place! "My intentions are to free this country from the rule of my uncle, King Miraz-"

"And then just steal the throne for yourself, is that it?"

"Peter, stop it!" Susan stood angrily. "He's been telling us what's been going on, and if you hadn't been sitting all by yourself brooding, then you'd know that he means to _save_ Narnia- restore our people their rights as citizens!" Peter narrowed his eyes.

"And what of Telmarines?Are they to stay in Narnia, free to slaughter my people as they did when they conquered my land?" Though Peter was being very unkind about it, his concern was based on real fears. He and Trumpkin had spoken for many hours during their hike south about the invasion of Narnia and the conquering of its peoples, whom the Telmarines had felt- and still did, by all accounts -were nothing more than chattel. Trumpkin, not being a historian, had not known all the details, but he had told Peter that much of the genocidal killing had been without reason, so devastating that the only option to whomever remained alive was to go into hiding and hope never to be found.

"No! No, never, I would never let that happen-" But Peter walked away from the campfire, leaving Caspian angry, irritated, and worried. The High King had voiced a deep-seated fear of his own, that to truly free the Narnians for whom he fought, he would be forced to kill and exile his own people. When dealing with soldiers, he no compunctions, but he loathed the thought of turning defenceless families out of their homes to fend for themselves in whatever foreign country they could reach.

"Don't bother about Peter," Lucy's soft voice pushed Caspian's worried thoughts away. "He's been . . . well, never mind. We know you mean well."

"I do!" The prince stared beseechingly into the dark eyes of the two queens of old. "I mean to free your people and put you on the four thrones again. You are the rightful rulers of Narnia, this country is yours! I do not know where the Telmarines and I will go, but you belong to Narnia, and Narnia belongs to its-"

"Caspian, no." Queen Susan smiled gently as she interrpted him. "We are not here to rule, but to help you gain _your_ rightful throne." She emphasised the words, contradicting her brother.

"But High King Peter, he-"

"My brother is mistaken." She paused, then pushed onwards with visible effort. "I do not believe we will remain here for nearly as long as we did last time." The young woman put a consoling hand on Queen Lucy's shoulder. "Lu, I know you want to stay, and I would love to as well, but- something tells me . . . This time we are to help Narnia through you, Caspian. We are here to help you gain your throne, not to take it from you."

"I still- you are not staying?" Caspian may have been unhappy with the High King, but the Queens (and he could tell from speaking to them for just the short amount of time since he had had since meeting them) would be capable rulers, loving of their people, pleasant, smart, and strong-willed. They, at least, had lived up to his expectations for the legends Doctor Cornelius had regaled him with, and though he could not pass judgement on King Edmund or Defender Lona, he had high hopes for them. "But I- I know nothing of ruling a country and-" Little Queen Lucy let out an commiserating sort of laugh.

"Neither did we! But you'll learn, Caspian, I'm sure of it. You'll make a wonderful king." She placed her hand over his, and though he knew she was only a child, her sweet smile somehow communicated knowledge and wisdom far beyond his own experience.

"All- Alright, Your Majesties. But what about the High King?" He shot a glance towards where Peter had disappeared into the forest.

"He's being perfectly beastly, but I'm sure he'll get over it." However, Lucy did not look as certain with this statement.

"And if we can't get him to behave, we'll get Rachel and Ed to bash some sense into him when we get to- Aslan's How, I believe it's called now?" Susan gazed with assurance into Caspian's eyes. He could not disappoint the Gentle Queen, so he smiled back, but could not quite quell the trepidation gnawing at his thoughts.

Peter returned a bit later, but only to curl up and fall asleep, having built a low barrier between the sleeping space and the fire with his, Rachel's, and Edmund's armour. The girls bid a good night to Caspian, who chose not to breach the wall of armour which the girls hopped over. He lay next to the embers of the dying fire and slept fitfully, dreaming of dying centaurs, slaughtered by Telmarine mothers fleeing burning homes, all clad in the armour of his uncle.

Edmund and Rachel watched as the mound of earth they had noticed earlier grew until it appeared in from of them, a pillared facade set into its front.

"I- I think we're- here." Edmund's breaths came in gasps that Rachel could barely hear over her own ragged breathing as the pair sprinted the final stretch to the entrance. Strong swirling winds battered them as four griffins landed in front of the opening in the hill with controlled, hard thumps that shook the ground. Though still unable to breathe properly, Edmund and Rachel had their weapons out, exchanging annoyed, desperate glances with one another. Rachel nodded to Edmund, consenting to his authority as king. The griffins stared down at them, and their leader, a tawny-furred and-feathered creature, barked out, "Humans! Are you Telmarines, come only in treachery and violence? What pathetic attempt at an attack is this? Two children?" His cohorts sniggered accordingly.

"My friends," the dark-haired boy began, suddenly appearing less as a gasping teen and more as a confident warrior, "We come in peace, sent by Prince Caspian, Trumpkin, and the mouse, Reepicheep. They follow us by less than an hour, and our only reason for parting company was to reach the centaur Glenstorm while he still lives. We possess the means to heal him, you see."

The tawny griffin turned the information over in his mind. "A likely story," he growled, "But we are not fool enough to fall for such lies. Have you even any proof?"

Edmund scoured the four griffins with his gaze and his eyes lit on what he was searching for. "Pardon me, my good griffin?" He addressed a black female standing in front of Rachel, her beak thrust aggressively into the girl's face. The beak repositioned itself so the black griffin could glare wholly at Edmund. "I see you suffer from an arrow wound?"

"Nothing to worry you, boy," she hissed. However, Edmund was quite right. A Telmarine crossbow bolt, much the same as had injured the children less than an our ago, protruded from her right haunch. The two humans were confused as to why it had not been treated, for the wound was obviously several days old and appeared to be infected; certainly it would painful.

"If you would permit me, lady, I could heal it." Edmund gazed with supplication into the griffin's yellow eyes. She turned to her commander for orders. He appeared confused and uncertain, but finally he muttered, "It's your call, Hielre." Hielre, the black lady griffin, moved stiffly towards Edmund and looked to him, challenge in her eyes.

"You make anything worse, Son of Adam, and my mate will be crowing over your corpse come midday." With this, she turned as let him take a good look at her haunch. Edmund barely glanced at it, trying to ignore the sickly stench of the rotting flesh, and removed the bottle of cordial from his belt. With a flick of his wrist, he dislodged a drop onto the injury and heaved the bolt out, moving aside quickly enough to avoid a reflexive kick from the pain he had caused. When the bolt was removed, he circled around Hielre to ask her how she was. His heart hammering in his chest, he smiled with trepidation at her suspicious visage. She nodded, her voice betrayed great relief.

"Thank you, Son of Adam. That wound has troubled me for the better part of the week." She nodded and reclaimed her place in the circle of her patrol, her commander, the tawny male, gazing with caution between her and young humans.

"Hielre?" His voice was hopeful.

"We should let them to Glenstorm, sir. If they can do for him what they did for me, we will soon have our general back." The commander beamed, well, as much as a griffin can beam, and trotted forward with a rustle of feathers to rub his neck against the black female's in a four-legged creature's embrace. Edmund theorised that the tawny male was the mate to whom the black lady had referred. The griffin commander turned to more politely address the boy and girl.

"Humans, we accept that you are here to help. Please follow me."

Surrounded by the griffin patrol, Rachel followed Edmund into the hollow hill. The inside was damp and smelled of earth and of the fire from the torches that lit their way. Edmund suspected that the only reason they had not been challenged further was because the Narnians were so desperate to save their general, they were willing to try anything. Well, if desperation was what got them in, it made no never mind to him, though he thought privately that if he were ever in charge of defence, he would be sure to train the patrols to be more careful and suspicious. They had breached the entrance within five minutes! Had they been Telmarine assassins, the place would have had no hope against them. Though he didn't suppose Telmarine assassins had access to any fireflower juice . . . no matter. He realised they had reached the sickbay, or what stood for one. An open earth-walled chamber, ceiling supported by evenly spaced columns, housed a sizeable crowd of creatures, each sporting linen bandages on some part of their bodies. Hielre led them to the back of the room, where a middle-aged black centaur lay. The creature's body was covered in the sickly sheen of fever sweat and though his skin was too swarthy for him to appear pale, his slack expression and occasional twitches betrayed his condition. A clean bandage covered both his horse- and man-chest. Edmund drew a breath and peeled the covering aside to reveal a gaping wound. Rachel swallowed and bit her lip. It looked intensely painful and quite fatal. She was astonished the centaur had kept himself alive for as long as he had. As it was, she could barely tell he was breathing. The dark-haired king knelt and uncorked the bottle, shaking a drop of cordial onto the massive wounds obscured in blood and lymph. Rachel sighed in relief as they disappeared, and smiled as the centaur shook himself and, like a moving mountain of horseflesh and man, raised himself to his feet. He appeared confused and disoriented, as Rachel had been the first few times she had been rescued from the jaws of death by Lucy's cordial. She smiled hopefully at the centaur- Glenstorm, she recalled -as he gazed about the sickbay with something akin to alarm in his eyes.

"Hello," she greeted him carefully. Edmund rose to his feet beside her and extended his hand, reaching up to shake the centaur's.

"General Glenstorm?" Edmund asked, his voice filled with calm authority. The centaur nodded, then cleared his throat.

"Yes, my- ah, I don't believe I've met you before, human." Glenstorm looked Edmund up and down, worry and suspicion flickering across his features.

"I am King Edmund the Just, centaur Glenstorm. We've come to help." Glenstorm's mouth fell open, his eyes widening perceptibly. He drew a quick breath, then sank into a centaur's bow.

"Sire." Edmund's mouth curved into a gracious smile. The centaur straightened, then glanced about the room again, seemingly anxious.

"General Glenstorm, I believe you are wondering where Prince Caspian is." Edmund stated. "I am glad to inform you that he too is alive and well, and making his way here as we speak, accompanied by my royal brother and sisters."

Rachel winced. She knew it would have come out sooner or later, but the wave of silence she detected, thick with disbelief and spreading rapidly throughout the room, was not something she wanted to deal with. The only one not staring at Edmund and Rachel with some degree of scepticism or anger was Glenstorm, who gazed at them with the knowing eyes of a centaur versed in the future. 'Well, thank Aslan for the star-gazing of centaurs and the futures the herds read in the night skies', Edmund thought. Without the general's knowledge they could have been at risk of being locked up and treated as if they were insane. The centaur general's smile was warm and joyous, though it faltered as he read the reactions of his soldiers and attendants. "Someone, bring food and drink for His Majesty, the girl, and myself. Now, if you please." The centaur's deep voice rang out, filled with danger for any who crossed him. The creatures who had been stock still with surprise and suspicion jumped to action. They may have not had any trust in Edmund or Rachel, but they were loyal to their leader, and hurried to obey him, many shooting beaming smiles of relief his way as they privately rejoiced in his return to the conscious and living. Stooping slightly to speak quietly to the two humans, Glenstorm murmured, "They will come to believe you. It will help when the other three are here. And-" He extended his huge dark hand to Rachel, "Do I have the honour of greeting General Lona, the Defender?"

"Yes," was her simple reply, but her face lit with the joy her full title brought to her. To be acknowledged for who and what she truly was . . . it was a glorious feeling of completeness. She shook his hand with a quiet strength to match his, and his eyes met hers, revealing fascination, curiosity, and wonder. She blushed and looked away, quite unaccustomed to fame or awe. She had always been addressed with nothing but a simple sort of respect. It was the monarchs people looked up to and admired, never her, which suited her perfectly. Attention something she was rather uncomfortable with, but, feeling a coward, she looked back into Glenstorm's eyes with steely intent, determined not to appear cowed. "It is good to see you alive and well, General. And I believe the others will reach the How- what do you say, Ed, perhaps by nightfall?"

"Probably, yeah, I reckon so." Edmund, who seemed to pull more authority and kingliness from the air as they spoke, regained some of his more childish tendencies as food and drink, borne on platters supported by a contingent of badgers and beavers, reached the centaur and two humans. "Wine! Narnian wine! And pavenders! Sweet Aslan, it has been too long . . ." Words were lost to the boy as he began to fill his mouth with the various dishes of which he had been deprived for the past year. "Rachel! Rachel, you have to try this . . ." and "Too long, too long" were the only words in English that escaped Edmund's mouth for the following quarter of an hour, at the end of which the platters were bare and he was emptying the last few drops of wine into his cup while wearing an immensely satisfied smile on his marginally food-smeared face. Rachel grinned and shook her head. Narnia's youngest king was a veritable food enthusiast. He would have been a food-worshipper, Rachel mused, if it were not against Aslan to venerate edibles, nor anything else for that matter. She wiped her mouth, quite happy herself with the meal, and chanced a look up at Glenstorm who, being a centaur, was still eating, though he had moved on to foodstuffs of oats and hay to feed his horse stomach. Fortunately, having not eaten for the past several days because of his near-death state, and simply because he was a centaur and thus required a great amount of nourishment, Glenstorm had remained blissfully ignorant of Edmund and Rachels' table manners. They had spent too much time around their army (or, in Edmund's case, wolf packs), and both had a sort of hateful relationship with officious dinners and protocol of any kind, resulting in a tendency to forgo manners without realising it unless Susan was present to verbally beat respect for mealtime etiquette into them.

Meanwhile, Peter was trying to lead the way through the forest after a very cold and uncomfortable breakfast by no fire, for Caspian had prohibited it as the smoke could be spotted by Telmarine patrols. Though Peter had to admit that the prince had a point, he didn't have to admit it to his face, and had preferred to sulk in silence, munching on what felt like the hundredth apple he had consumed in the past several days. And currently he was bush-whacking his way through what seemed like endless forest, every piece of vegetation seemingly intent on tripping him or whipping him with dratted little branches and brambles that were always in the way, and-

"Pardon me, sire, but we need to turn left here. The path, it turns in front of that linden tree, right th-"

"I know, Caspian!" He didn't know, but the irritatingly knowledgeable prince shouldn't have been bossing him around. He detected a sigh, heaved by one of his sisters behind him, and grumbled under his breath, griping Rhindon's hilt tighter as to quell the urge to punch something. Why did he have to stay with the annoying three? Rachel and Ed got to run off with Trumpkin, escaping Caspian for the better part of two days, while he was stuck with-

"Peter! Peter, could we please rest for a few minutes?" It was Lucy. "I wouldn't ask, only Su didn't have any boots, and her shoes really aren't made for hiking- they're practically worn through, and I can hear a stream-"

"Fine! If you're tired, Lu, you can just admit it," Peter growled.

"But I'm not! Su-"

"Shh, Lucy." Susan quieted her sister. She was certainly not wearing shoes fit for stamping about in the forest for days on end, but she would have stuck it out until they reached the How. However, this was not to say that she did not appreciate her younger sister's concern. "Thanks," she whispered into the girl's ear as they refilled their water skins in the stream Lucy had spoken of. Caspian knelt next to Susan and smiled at her.

"I hope the walk is not troubling you too much, my Queen."

Lucy smirked knowingly as Susan held back a sigh. Susan's beauty had been famed throughout Narnia and its bordering lands during their reign, and for a good reason. The girl seemed to enchant every human male who set eyes upon her, generally unintentionally as well, and she could see that Caspian was similarly affected. The truth was that Susan's closest male friend, aside from her brothers, had been blind. The spell her appearance cast over those of the opposite sex was advantageous for a monarch, but as meaningful relationships went, it was not the best basis for one. "I am quite all right, Caspian, no call for worry."

"Of course, Your Majesty. It's just that, we would reach the How in a much more timely fashion if I could lead, for your brother, he does not- well-"

"He doesn't know where he's going? Yes, we're aware of that," Lucy interjected.

"Well then, why-" Caspian started, only to be interrupted again.

"If we were to take the lead away from him, we would be dealing with a whole new world of bad temper." Susan sighed. "But- how much time _are_ we losing? We'll get there eventually because you keep telling him where to turn and such, but if you were to lead, how much time would we save?"

"Perhaps a day, at most?"

"A _day!_ I thought it would be in the neighbourhood of, say, an hour, but- that is simply ridiculous." Susan shook her head in disbelief. Well, it was up to her to see that no more time was put to waste. _A day!_ Simply unacceptable. Lucy had already risen and trotted back to Peter by the time she and Caspian made their way through the brush (Caspian trying to hold aside or clear every possible obstruction on the path for the Gentle Queen) and to the path. They found Lucy hesitantly explaining to Peter their exchange.

"Peter, please, if we can save a day, isn't it worth-"

"I won't have _him_ leading us! Have you seen the way he looks at Su? We don't even know if we can trust him!" Peter and Lucy both were apparently unaware of their audience.

"Everyone looks at Su like that! Well, not everyone, but you know what I mean." Lucy scowled. "And if you don't trust him, then why, by Aslan, did you send Ed and Rachel and Trumpkin off on his instructions?"

"I- you said that-"

"Peter?" Susan said calmly, breaking into the heated discussion. "We would like to reach the How by nightfall, and to do that, Caspian will have to lead. Are you amenable to that?"

"Susan, he-"

"Peter_?"_ Susan gave him a hard smile, her eyes glinting dangerously. "I wish to reach the How by nightfall. You will walk by me now, or you will carry me tomorrow when my shoes no longer have soles and we have yet to reach our destination. _Are you amenable?"_

He stared at the ground, his face twisting with bitterness, then- "Fine," the word was spat out between his teeth as he agreed tersely. The four resumed their journey, Caspian leading, followed by a furious Peter who stomped angrily next to Susan, who had a time of it holding back sighs of frustration at her brother's behaviour. Frankly, she was ashamed to be related to him at the moment. Peter always had difficulty admitting he was wrong, mainly because he was usually right, and when he was wrong, it was always because someone close to him had proven him so. The blatant -as he saw it- disregard for his status and right to power and authority was grating on him more than anything she had ever seen, and he was coping very badly. She let a sigh slip, and started chewing her tongue to stop any more from escaping, chancing a glance back at Lucy. The younger girl's eyes were red from withheld tears, her face contorted with misery. Susan remembered that look, from whenever Peter fought or Ed left to escape an argument between Rachel and Pete . . . all things she thought would have been left back in England . . . but no. They couldn't flee their problems, and Narnia wasn't solving them in a trice either. Susan shook her head. She simply did not know what to do, so she kept walking, hoping the How, and the need to overthrow a government that had overrun their beloved homeland would be enough to heal the wounds in their family.

Peter, Susan, Caspian, and Lucy reached Aslan's How an hour or so after sunset, when true darkness was settling over the landscape. The Telmarine prince led them through the entrance, stopped briefly by sentries who greeted Caspian warmly while surreptitiously shooting curious looks at the three Pevensies. They made their way through the dark tunnels lit with the guttering orange light of torches. Caspian was leading them to Glenstorm's quarters, intent on insuring the general's livelihood. "Where are we headed, Caspian?" Peter demanded. "And where are Ed and Rachel?

"Well, I have no idea where your brother and- er, general are, but I'm going to Glenstorm. He'll know where they are. We're almost-"

"-Here!" he cried. "Glenstorm, you're-" The prince dashed from entrance where he had appeared, straight to the centaur general's side, laying a disbelieving hand on the general's flank. "You're alive, you're well!" the prince finished.

"As are you, my Prince." The centaur bestowed a true smile upon the red-faced youth as he nodded in satisfaction. Peter glanced between the centaur and prince and then stepped in.

"Your pardon, General Glenstorm, but I'd like to know where-"

"They're in the table room, Your Highness." Glenstorm sank into a centaur's bow, his voice running with a current of happiness and wonder. "High King Peter, I presume? And Your Majesties, Queen Lucy the Valiant and Queen Susan the Gentle." The centaur bowed twice more to the dark-haired queens who smiled and curtsied.

"It's so good to meet you, Glenstorm!" Lucy trotted forward and laid a warm hand on Glenstorm's flank, next to Caspian's. "I'm so glad Ed, Trumpkin, and Rachel reached you in time."

"Oh- yes, Your Majesty." The centaur appeared rather taken aback at Lucy's direct approach.

Caspian hid a grin behind his free hand as he heard Lucy assert, as he knew she would, "Just 'Lucy' is quite enough, good centaur. No need for titles among friends!"

At this moment, a voice, accompanied by the patter of jogging paws, echoed into the general's currently crowded chamber.

"General, we've just had a thought-" but whatever the thought was, they did not learn, for the voice, belonging to a sheepdog of some sort, ended in a surprised yip. "Prince Caspian, you're back!" The creature's tail waved back and forth, beating the wall.

"So good to see you, Loarie!" Caspian left Glenstorm's side to kneel on the floor and give the dog a good pat. "And-" the prince turned on his knees to point, "Please meet their Highnesses, High King Peter, Queen Susan, and Queen Lucy- the siblings of King Edmund."

"Oh! Well met, your Majesties." Loarie, as a sheepdog, was quite calm for her race, though her tail still beat a tattoo upon the cave wall. She rolled onto her back, showing submission to the royalty, as was correct etiquette for canines. The monarchs bowed and curtsied in turn, and Loarie trotted up to sniff them. "You smell quite like King Edmund, High King Peter. But very different as well." Loarie sneezed. "Pardon me! Do you wish to see the other humans? King Edmund is in the table room with his general, if you would like to . . .?" At this possessive, Peter's face darkened. Loarie sensed his displeasure, as was the way with dogs, and looked up at him, confused and apologetic. Lucy interrupted the silent exchange.

"Oh, we would love to, if you would but lead us there, good Loarie," She cried, delighted at the prospect of seeing her brother and friend. The humans, accompanied by Glenstorm and led now by Loarie, entered the table room. Rachel and Edmund were sitting cross-legged on the floor, back to the door, with several others. A ginger faun was pointing out something on a map and gesturing to the rest as a badger served tea and stew and two dwarves argued heatedly in a corner; one of them was Trumpkin, the other, a black dwarf. They stopped when they saw those standing in the doorway.

"Look," Elrus gestured. "The river will be bridged in less than a week according to the latest reports. Unless we find some way of delaying or halting its construction, we will be facing an entire army on our doorstep by next week."

Reepicheep chuntered under his breath. "Well, let them come. We shall fight them and slaughter them!" Rachel pursed her lips in irritation as the rest of the circle restrained themselves from rolling their eyes.

"Er, it would be nice if we could meet the Telmarines in pitched battle and win. However, if you've been paying attention for the past- well, your entire life, pretty much -you'll realise that we are greatly outnumbered," Edmund pointed out through gritted teeth.

"Oh. Yes," Reppicheep frowned, "Yes, there is that." Edmund raised his eyebrows.

"Well, as pitched battle is _not_" the dark--haired king shot the mouse a glare, "an option, what else can we do? Ideas, anyone?"

"We can spoil their supplies, but it is impossible to destroy water sources as they're working right next to the Beruna River, and with so little time left, we've done all we can to their food supplies . . . men can function for more than a week without food, and they'll have finished the bridge in less than that, as Elrus has said." The black dwarf, Nikabrik, who was giving the depressing assessment, shrugged. "In short, there is nothing we can do. We're doomed."

"Hey there, no call for that attitude," Rachel protested.

"Nikabrik, you always manage to see the worst in everything, don't you," Trumpkin countered angrily.

"Well, I'm not the one who refuses to see what's right in front of him, am I, Trumpkin?" Nikabrick retorted, gnashing his teeth.

"Which is what, exactly?" Trumpkin was now yelling. The others turned back to the map as the dwarves continued to argue.

"Do we have any other options, Elrus?" was Edmund's calm query.

"We could try cutting through the bridge supports. It would be a dangerous job, and hard, but I'm sure the beavers would be a great help," was Jatli's input. The dark leopard was curled up next to Rachel and her suggestion brought hope to the group.

"And we might also try to take their tools," a shifty-eyed racoon added. "The bigger ones we'll need centaurs and minotaurs for, but most are transportable by creatures my size."

"Brilliant." Edmund gave a hopeful smile.

"Elrus," Rachel said, turning to the ginger faun with the best grasp of maps and geography, "Where is the best place to enter the Telmarine's camp from? We'll need to consider secrecy, as well as the distance between here and the camp. We should be able to accomplish this all in one night, I believe, and the sooner, the better."

"Well-" Elrus started, but stopped as the obnoxiously loud argument they had all been ignoring halted abruptly. The faun glanced across at the dwarves, then followed their gazes behind himself, to find General Glenstorm and Loarie who were accompanied by Prince Caspian and three other humans who didn't appear to be Telmarines, the tallest a golden-haired male, and two dark-haired females, one significantly taller and older than the other. The three together, they seemed familiar, but more real than he had ever seen them. Elrus had never seen any but the dark-haired Telmrines, so the golden hair of the male seemed unreal, like a drawing of the King of Old, Peter. Almost as if they could be the Kings and Queens of Old if joined by King Edmund. Elrus was a Narnian and loved his country, but he couldn't quite find it within himself to believe that the rulers of Narnia's golden age had returned to help their land after a thousand years had passed. He thought he couldn't believe. That was, until Edmund raised himself and greeted the humans. It was as if the authoritative but down-to-earth young man was completed in some strange way, as if he had been missing part of himself and now, reunited with these three, they made a unit, a completed group of true royalty, the essence of leadership. Elrus knew their names, knew their stories. Queen Lucy was the smallest, bright and kind, the Valiant, with Queen Susan, famed for her beauty and soft nature, the Gentle. Then there were the Kings. The faun saw the boy he had dealt with for the past day in a whole knew light. King Edmund, tough and smart, the Just, and, completing the group as the true leader, High King Peter, brave and strong, the Magnificent. The four seemed to exude power as they stood together, Edmund greeting his siblings with embraces. Rachel stood next to him and he was suddenly reminded of her role in the old stories. It was extremely strange to meet legends, Elrus thought. She didn't quite fit the description of vast, overwhelming power she was famed to wield, but she did somehow belie implacable power and confidence. As the faun watched, the High King handed to her a brace of throwing knives arrayed on a belt, and a thick, round shield. She took them, her smile somehow cold to Elrus's eyes.

"Thanks, Peter. I really appreciate you carrying these for me, I'm sorry I had to leave them with you." Rachel smiled- or tried to, more like. She was somehow less happy to see Peter than she had thought. It had been pleasant to be just with Edmund, someone she could depend on to remain himself. Peter was more confusing. Sometimes he was himself, and other times . . . other times he was arrogant, irritating, and dangerously over-confident. She had been happy not to deal with him, though it could not be said she was unhappy to have all four monarchs under her eyes again, as it made it much easier to protect them all when they were in the same place. After Peter, Susan, and Lucy had met the more important creatures in the makeshift army occupying Aslan's How, Caspian showed them to their sleeping quarters, explaining, and afterwards apologising profusely, that there was little room in the How because it was housing the army, so they could only spare two rooms for the five of them.

"Here's yours," the prince turned to Peter and Edmund, gesturing at a small stone chamber with a ledge on which to keep armour and weapons. He walked to the end of the narrow hallway and turned to Susan and Lucy. As he noticed there were only two of them, his brows knit. "Where did Defender Lona go?"

"She's probably in her room, with Peter and Edmund," Susan replied uncertainly, confused by his question. "Where else would she be, you left them there . . .?"

"Oh- she will not stay with you?" He gazed at the two queens in consternation and Lucy giggled.

"Of course not, silly! Rachel always bunks with the boys." She turned to Susan, "I'll bet you she's sleeping in front of the door too. Just like before . . . I don't know how many times I've fallen over her, going to wake the boys up when we were camped." She smiled, reminiscing, as Caspian continued to look confused. Susan took pity on the perplexed young man and smiled kindly up at him.

"Rachel's duty is to protect the four of us, but really she exists to keep our brothers from getting themselves killed, on and off the battlefield. She slept in Peter's bedroom in Cair Paravel as he's the highest priority, being High King and all, to guard him from assassins. She caught a few too, it was a good thing she's so over-protective of the two of them. I believe it's just a habit now, but it's saved their lives many a time." Susan nodded, eyes downcast as she recalled the near misses her brothers had experienced, how many times they would have died if Rachel hadn't been there. It was a frightening thought.

Rachel sat on the floor of the bedchamber, her small, rough-cut throwing knives in their bandolier brace piled at her right, Ally in her lap, the dagger usually strapped to her thigh on her left in its sheath, its sharpening and polish already completed. She ran the whetstone down the edge of the scimitar, the motion and grating sound rhythmic and soothing, automatic. Her eyes were half closed as she went through the familiar, endless task, occasionally looking up at the boys as they shifted the maps and reports amassed between them, quietly discussing strategy and position. When she had finished with the knives and slipped them all back into place, she glanced up at the hour candle.

"It's near midnight!" Her exclamation brought about a round of stretching and sighing from Ed and Peter.

"Time for bed, I suppose," Edmund yawned. "I'm going to find whatever stands for a bathroom in this place." The other two nodded at him and laid out their blankets. Rachel smiled as she rotated her shoulders, hearing them pop. She rummaged around in her rucksack, retrieving a long night-shirt. She stripped off her shirt and tunic, shook out the night-shirt, and stretched. A cold touch on her back made her start and gasp.

"What's this from?" Peter queried softly. His fingers lingered over the new pucker of white scar tissue that bloomed on her right shoulder blade. He knew her scars, from where each had come, as well as he knew his own. This one was new.

"Nothing." Rachel shrugged out from under his hands and pulled the night-shirt over her head. "Me and Ed and Trumpkin met a Telmarine patrol on the way here . . . we had to use Lu's 's all." Though the cordial would erase all trace of injury on most, both Edmund and Rachel, as well as Peter, had used it so much that, though it would heal anything, it left scar tissue, as if the wounds were years, instead of hours, old. Peter appeared shocked. "What?" she asked. "We're both fine. Ed only got hit in the calf." She caught his eye and raised her eyebrows. "It isn't as if this sort of thing didn't happen all the time when we were here before."

"Of course," Peter nodded, but when Edmund returned, Peter demanded to see his calf, and though the younger boy gave similar assurances, Peter did not relax. The shaken, almost scared look, that had appeared on his face when he learned of the encounter, did not leave until he was asleep, curled around Rhindon.

Rachel was on the edge of true sleep when a small hand grasped her arm. Jerking awake, she grabbed the hilt of her dagger, brandishing the naked blade at whoever had woken her as she shoved them backwards. A high-pitched yelp alerted her to who it was.

"Sorry, sorry Lucy!" she whispered, trying not to wake the sleeping kings. She rose and exited the room, finding the abashed girl sitting where she had been pushed, on the floor in the tunnel corridor. Rachel helped her to her feet while apologising. "Are you alright? I'm really, very sorry- it was just automatic, a reflex, you know . . ."

"I'm fine, Rachel. I should have remembered." The young girl smiled sheepishly, referring to multiple other occasions whereupon Rachel had come close to seriously injuring people who had awakened her. She was like a kicking horse; if you woke her with sudden movements, she'd lash out, but if it was gentle or gradual, she would wake as any normal person would, without threatening the life of whoever was trying to get her out of bed. "Anyway-"

"Yes, what is it? Is everything okay?" They sat together against the tunnel wall, several metres from the entrance of the sleeping chamber.

"I just wanted to warn you . . . " Lucy trailed off, unsure as of how to proceed. She wrapped her arms around her knees as Rachel waited, her attention piqued. "I'd wanted to wake Ed," she began, "but he was farther away from the doorway, and if I got him, Peter would wake up. You see, Peter's being- well -well, just beastly towards Caspian. It's awful!"

"Umm . . ." Rachel started, unsure as to how this merited waking her in the middle of the night, "Why? Why doesn't Peter like Caspian? From what I've gathered, everyone here seems to think he's lovely, apart from him being Telmarine of course, but still-" she shrugged.

"Well, that's just it. I think Peter thinks that Caspian is trying to- to take over, and Peter wants to be king. It's like a Shakespearean play or something, from England. They both want the throne . . .and it doesn't help that Caspian's half in love with Susan." The young queen shook her head in exasperation and helplessness. "It's ridiculous. We're supposed to be helping him, and Peter's trying to- well, not help him, that's for sure. Take his place, more like."

Rachel waited until Lucy had talked herself out and then rested a hand on the girl's shoulder as she sighed. "Well. This makes things more difficult. Hmph."

"I know," Lucy agreed. She hated that her brother, who had been someone to look up to and admire, had changed so much and for the worse since they had returned to England from Narnia. He had accustomed himself beautifully to power and command, but giving it up . . . it destroyed him, made him into something he wasn't, petty, callous, and needlessly aggressive. "I just thought, that if one of you knew, you could talk to him, make him understand . . . he doesn't listen to me anymore." Lucy sniffed and wiped her eyes. Rachel gave her a one-armed hug, her mood sinking.

"I'm sorry, Lu. He should realise that if he feels like he's over thirty, then you are much older inside as well. Perception never was one his strong suits though." She smiled sadly as Lucy hugged her back. "I will try and talk some sense into him, I promise. And I'll let Ed know."

"Thanks, Rachel. Good night, and sorry for waking you." Lucy rose and trotted down the corridor to her sleeping quarters as Rachel waved her farewell. She sighed, tilting her head back against the wall. "Oh, Peter . . ." She muttered. She wondered whether she or Edmund _could_ talk sense into the High King. Peter was a possessive person, and though he should have been used to the reaction Susan got from most young men, Caspian's feelings toward his sister complicated the problem. As for jealousy, Rachel could understand it. What Peter needed to be convinced of, was that he was wrong to feel such jealousy. She would talk to Ed in the morning and discuss how to best talk Peter around. She sighed, rose from her position against the wall, and returned to the stone sleeping chamber.

"Where'd you go?" Peter's soft, low voice came out of the darkness.

Rachel bit her lip. "Just talking to Lucy." Her voice was quiet too. Neither wanted to wake Ed, though they both knew that the younger king was such a heavy sleeper, it was difficult to wake him when trying to, never mind unintentionally.

"Is she all right?"

"She's fine, Peter." There was a rustling of blanket on stone and Peter shuffled over to her, holding his covers around himself. He took a seat next to her, lying Rhindon beside Ally, her scimitar. Rachel took a deep breath, then sat up to look him in the eye. "She wanted to talk about you."

"Me? What about me?" He was perplexed now, but also suspicious. His fringe fell into his eyes and he brushed it away impatiently.

"Well," and she made the decision to approach it now and off-handedly. "What do you think of Caspian? As a person, as someone to lead this country?"

"I think he's a git." His mouth twisted into an expression of disgust. Rachel bit her bottom lip again, hearing what she had feared.

"Why, may I ask? What has he done that makes him, er, git-like?" She was asking him to prove his point. If she could engage him in debate and at least convince him that he should reconsider Caspian, she would be happy with her night.

"He- he looks at Susan like-"

"Like every other boy? Peter, the way she looks . . . you've lived with it for your whole life. You aren't used to it?" Her voice sceptical, she raised her eyes to his and gazed with genuine curiosity into them.

"Well- I should be, I suppose."

"It isn't as if he's going to do anything, and if he does, Susan can always say no, or something more violent if needs be, I'm sure." She grinned up at him, trying to make him relax and concede the point.

"I guess . . ." He trailed off, looking mutinous. Rachel sighed. It was already not going as well as she had hoped.

"Anything else?"

"Hm?"

"Is there anything else about him that makes him unfit to rule?"She clarified, her voice hopeful.

"Yes!" was his emphatic response.

"And . . .?" Her implied question hung in the air for several seconds before Peter said anything.

"He's just- he's a Telmarine, for Aslan's sake!" He was gripping Rhindon's hilt with white-knuckled hands, and Rachel reached out to touch his wrist.

"Peter- who else would rule? You know a human has to sit on Narnia's throne . . ."

"I would." It was said very quietly, almost as if he didn't want her to hear. She winced, squeezing her eyes shut and grimacing.

"Peter . . ." She raised herself up and moved next him, prizing his hand off of Rhindon's hilt and laying it in his lap. He stared at his empty hand, then up at her face, appearing apologetic, yet stubborn. She put a hand on his shoulder and waited several minutes, letting him mull things over. "You can't." It was equally soft as his answer had been, both apology and fact. "We aren't- you've already had your reign, and it was a wonderful age for Narnia, but it's over." Her voice rose and she stopped to gauge his response. He tensed under her hand and his hand took hers, gripping it almost painfully.

"Why?" It escaped gratingly out of him, like a sob.

"That's just how it is, Peter. It's just- it's Caspian's turn. I think . . . he can lead this country. Narnia is not the same as it was under your rule, but perhaps Caspian can bring it together. Just give him a chance. Please." A few breaths later, she admitted, "This is what I was talking to Lucy about, why she woke me. She's worried about you, about how this is all going to work. We have to be fighting for the same thing, to get Caspian on the throne." Peter stiffened again. "I know you don't want to hear it, but just- just try." She sighed and lay back, freeing her hand and proffered her forearm. He tapped it softly with his and the corner of his mouth lifted in the ghost of a grin. Peter made as if to lie down next to her and she turned away from him.

"Good night, Peter."

"'Night, Rachel." She heard him return to his original sleeping spot next to Ed and sighed. She had no idea why she didn't want him sleeping next to her, but she didn't. They both drifted off into sleep, sad and frustrated, each warriors' hands on the hilts of their weapon.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Okay, so I;m just curious- does any part of this ever make you laugh? I was rereading it to edit, and I definitely think some bits are funny- anyone else share that opinion, or is it just wishful thinking/my very easliy activated sense of humour?

It was dark when Rachel awoke. She smiled as she felt Ally's hilt in her palm. Ed was snoring so loudly she would be hard-pressed to fall back asleep. She heard Peter turning over and decided it was time to get up. After several laps around the fields in full battle armour, Rachel was pouring sweat. She clanked to a halt next to a squadron of breakfasting centaurs, gasping out a greeting as she mopped perspiration from her face. As she regained her breath, her eyes came to rest upon a particularly massive young stallion. He was more tall than broad, young enough that puppy fat still clung to his stomach. She smiled, remembering a centaur very similar to this one, one of her dearest friends in Narnia. She shook her head and walked up to him, throwing her head back to look him in the eye, as he towered some four feet above her.

"Hi!" She beamed up at him and he snorted, obviously amused by her behaviour. She chuckled in response.

"Hello, human." His voice withheld laughter and quietly mocked her, causing her to giggle. "Are you, er, the woman general from the past?"

"Yeah . . . you know, you really remind me of a friend I had a long time ago- name of Peradine. 'Always call him Peri for short y'know, but, you wouldn't happen to be related to him at all . . . ?" She cocked her head at the stallion as he gaped back at her.

"-Well- yes! Peradine, that is my great-great . . . I don't even know how many 'greats' but- but yes! I- do I look a lot like him? He's a very honoured ancestor among us!"

That did it for Rachel. "Really?" She managed to gasp out as her fit of laughter subsided. The huge dark bay looked down at her, incredulous. He seemed unsure of her sanity, so she patted his giant flank, saying, "He'd just think it was really funny too. Though he'd be very honoured as well," she assured the soldier. "Hey," -a thought had struck, "Is your family either ridiculously huge or pretty tiny?"

"Er . . . well, sort of. I mean, my sister's practically a pony. Don't tell her I said that though."

Rachel grinned, nodding. "'Knew it. Laurel was your other ancestor on whatever side of the family Peri's on, I'm guessing."

The size differential between the couple had been laughably big, Laurel a centaur of barely fifteen hands, whereas her mate, Peri, stood at over twenty-three and a half. She had recited their heights often, for it was an amusing difference between the rarely-separated couple; they had come to mind as soon as she had set eyes on the stallion.

"Um . . . yeah." The centaur shook his head, clearly having trouble coming to grips with meeting someone who considered his ancient ancestors friends.

"Say, what's your name? Also, pardon, but- how tall are you?"

"I'm called Meri, short for Meradine . . . and I'm um, twenty-three hands. Still growing, though!"

"Nice. I'm Rachel." She stuck out her sweaty hand. He took it and winced, and she giggled again, and apologised. "So, how is the herd- I'm assuming you are of the Drine-Hensn herd of the north-western mountain passes?" It had been Peri's herd, a wilder clan of dark, massive centaurs, famous for power and their use of broadswords over the bows favoured by the herds of the south-eastern plains, from which Laurel had come. Meri bore a great claymore at his side, from which she had taken her cue.

"Yes, of course. Say- is it true you used to run with them? On a horse named- Stri, I think?" He looked curiously down at her, obviously fascinated.

"Of course! I loved to run with the Drine-Hensns, they were my own favourite company in my army- we used to go out bandit-hunting when things got slow! Peter always hated that . . . And Astri was the horse's name, and boy do I miss him. The herd still keep his kind for working horses? Do you have any here?" Her spirits, high from meeting the young centaur who so reminded her of such a good friend, rose even more. If she could find a ride half as good as Astri, she would be over-joyed, and much more likely to survive any battle concerning cavalry.

"Well, we do still keep their kind, but this squadron of us are the only ones here- we brought four horses with us to help carry gear- none of them have ever been ridden by a human though, sorry . . ." Meri trailed off apologetically. His face was pale, his hair soft and dark, she observed. He really was the spitting image of his many-times-great-grandsire.

She shrugged in response, then asked, "Why only a squadron? One score? Surely the herd is not so depleted in numbers it could not send more?"

"Well, the herd is doing fine, we number more than four thousand at the moment, but-"

"Woah! It sure has grown! There were not more than a thousand Drine-Hensns last time I was around, and- just, wow. I'm sorry, you were saying-"

"Yes, there are enough of us that we could have sent nearly three thousand warriors at a stretch, but- the herd is uncertain that this will come to anything. The elders sent us to see, and we are to report back to tell them if it's worth it, to send more." He blushed as he admitted it, looking over his shoulder to hide his eyes.

"Oh. And?" She bit her lip tensely. Three thousand Drine-Hensn warriors would be enough to tip the balance of the rebellion in the Narnians' favour, but they would have to be convinced, and Drine-Hensns were stubborn creatures.

"I believe-" Meri flicked his tail in agitation, "_I _believe that if we sent all that we have, we would have a fighting chance. I have not yet decided if it is worth it or not, to put that many lives at stake." He appeared solemn, but decided in his pronouncement of the situation. Rachel nodded slowly. She could see his point, certainly. The Drine-Hensns had considered themselves both Narnian and wild, and their allegiance depended more on who was in charge than the nation in which they happened to graze. They were powerful enough that none of the countries they strayed into put up a fight about the territory that was temporarily claimed.

"I agree. But would you tell them- tell them Peri would've come. I don't know if that'll help, but . . . the herd used to follow the Pevensie monarchs. They're back, and if any of that allegiance still stands, remind the elders of it, for me, please." She stared with trust into Meri's eyes, which gleamed such a familiar shade of brown. He hesitated, the nodded.

"I shall make your plea, General. I give you my word."

"Thank you, Meri. And that just sounds weird- call me Rachel, please." She smiled again as another memory sprang to mind. "I don't suppose you're in the mood for a bit of practice with that claymore, hm?" It had been ever so long since she had sparred with a centaur, and it was such a rush . . . She glanced up hopefully at Meri to find him gazing at her as if unsure of her sanity once more. She snorted, knowing he was rightfully shocked.

"Are you joking?" He sputtered.

"No . . . I used to spar with centaurs all the time, Meri. Do you have any record of that?"

"Well, some, yeah," he admitted, "But it seems a little ridiculous, I mean- I always imagined you a lot bigger, no offence."

She laughed, shaking her head. "None taken. But you judge if it's ridiculous after we've had a go, alright?"

"Oh . . ." He trailed off, glancing back at his squadron of compatriots. "Well, fine. But what if I hurt you?"

"Then I'll have been stupid. Come on!" She jogged into out the open, beckoning him as she went. He sighed, then spurred himself into a heavy canter to join her in mere seconds.

"Alright." He drew his claymore, swinging the huge weapon experimentally, loosening up his arms. Rachel unstrapped her buckler from her back, then re-strapped it to her arm. She then drew her dagger with her shield hand, and her scimitar with her free arm. She may have sparred with centaurs for years, but she still needed every advantage she could get against the vastly larger creatures.

"Ready?" she called. He nodded, raising the claymore in front of his chest. They stood ten feet apart, a distance Meri could close in less than three seconds. He cantered towards her and she felt a rush of adrenaline and instinctive fear as the giant creature rapidly neared her. He was very obviously preparing for a downwards chopping blow. He gave it and she blocked with her shield, but the force of the blow brought her to her knees. He had overshot though, and before he had turned around to face her again, she was on her feet, ready. "Come on, Meri!" She chuckled as she heard him grunt aggressively. This pass, she would make her move. As he bowed his body to use all the power he could put behind his sword into another downward blow at her short person, she got ready to jump. She blocked the chop, sliding the claymore along her buckler as he cantered past. She had to be extremely fast, but she had much experience with the move. She leapt up towards the man-torso he had bowed in order to reach her, and managed to hook an arm around his chest, the other wrapping around his sword arm as she detected his startled yelp of protest. She held herself to to him, up off the ground, her arms straining as they supported her own weight plus that of her armour and weapons, but her scimitar rested across Meri's jugular. She had won. He slowed his canter, then stopped, and she dropped to the ground, grinning up at him. "Told you I'd fought centaurs before. I did warn you."

Meri was shocked as his defeat by such a diminutive creature. "How did you- you're so much smaller than me! What- I mean, I-"

She giggled at his flabbergasted expression. "Practise, Meri. I've used that move _many_ a time on Peri. No worries, people who haven't fought centaurs before will never try that on you. At least that's what my experience has been." She shrugged happily and bounced to her feet, commending him. "Those were some nice blows though, lots of power."

"Thanks. I just need to work on my endurance- that's what Keriline always says, anyway. My squad commander," he added.

"I've got the opposite problem . . ."

The conversation devolved into a discussion of fight technique and method, whereupon they reached the rest of the squadron, and Meri was teased until Rachel had sparred with the rest of the squad and shown them that she was nowhere near as easy to take out as she looked. Sparring and joking around with a group of massive Drine-Hensns felt wonderfully familiar, and Rachel relaxed and enjoyed the morning with them, but she made a note to search out Keriline before the day was out. She was intent on convincing the Drine-Hensn herd to come to Narnia's aid. The lives it would save, the victory and liberation it promised, were worth any amount of begging for help that might be required.

Later that afternoon she watched Peter and Ed trot to the practice yards and begin sparring, her critical eye catching their mistakes in swordplay. She recalled a dryad teasing her for watching the boys so avidly, thinking she was admiring their bodies instead of their fighting. The dryad obviously had no notion of how obsessive Rachel was with perfecting swordplay.

The two were incredibly skilled from years of practice, but their familiar weaknesses brought an impish grin to Rachel's face. Besides the fact that they were both fighting as if they had the benefit of the added height and weight they had gained with the greater ages with which they had left Narnia, Edmund's telltale flighty form was showing, his blows rapid, but losing too much force with their speed. Peter had the opposite problem, sacrificing speed for extremely powerful stabs and slashes. Though the technique was adequately effective for someone larger, Peter was simply not capable of putting the necessary weight behind his sword for it to work well. Aside from these basic flaws, the kings were showing all the signs of carelessness that came from lack of practise, including, but not limited to, bent arms that further reduced the power of blows, poor posture that compromised the sturdiness of one's stance, and shoddy footwork that would completely destroy one's balance.

"Hello." It was Susan, fresh from the archery range and rather red in the face.

"Hey, Su. How're you?" Rachel smiled.

"Fine, fine . . . they're a bit rusty, I see." Rachel smiled and nodded. The queen was quite right. Though Susan was not violent by nature, abhorring bloodshed, she had a fine eye for technique, and knew the ins and outs of duelling and sparring better than most.

"I reckon it's because-" But when Rachel glanced to her side to see Susan, the dark-haired girl was not there. "Su-?" And then a wide grin spread over her face. Susan stood in front of the boys' crossed swords, lifting Rhindon's point to straighten Peter's arm, kicking Edmund's feet to get them into the appropriate alignment. Rachel could hear the queen's calm but sharp corrective commands from the fence. Su nodded decisively, then turned and headed back to Rachel, twirling her bow through her fingers as she walked.

"Want to practise up on your archery? I could have another go at the range."

Rachel laughed a bit at this. "What? You haven't shamed every creature here with your accuracy and convinced them you're an archery goddess yet?"

"Oh, no, I have." Susan grinned and tossed her hair arrogantly in jest. "No, but I actually came over because some of the centaurs were moving a few targets farther away for me. I expect they're done by now. So? How about it? How long has it been since you've shot a bow, anyway?"

"Oh man, a while, Su. I am awful at archery . . ." Rachel shook her head in resignation. She had never quite gotten the hang of it, it was true.

"Well, practice is the only way you'll improve." Su raised her eyebrows at her and Rachel chuckled, hopping down from her perch on the fence.

"All right, fine. You have to give me some direction, though."

"No problem." Susan clapped the shorter girl on the shoulder as the pair headed off to the archery range, waving cursory farewells which the boys did not see, preoccupied as they now were with their technique.

Rachel grinned as they neared the archery grounds. She had almost forgotten this side of Susan, the strong, implacable side that could move hundreds of creatures to do her bidding with nothing but voice and willpower. It was the side of Susan that was a queen, and a respect-worthy arms-mistress as well.

As she headed back from the archery practise, during which she had managed to thoroughly embarrass herself in front of a contingent of fauns and centaur mares, she met Meri, who invited her to a supper filled with laughter in the midst of the Drine-Hensn squad. They had dubbed themselves the "Narnilines", a thoroughly strange mix of 'Narnia', and the suffix they used for many names, their new title apparently somewhat of a source of pride for the group. She managed to get Keriline aside for a few minutes and make her case about the Drine-Hensns' allegiances. She met back with Peter and Edmund in the sleeping chamber, quite pleased with herself for making headway into recruiting three thousand Drine-Hensns.

"So, I met a squadron of Drine-Hensns today, and I might be able to get three thousand of them down here to help us!" She was very excited to tell them and had been waiting to announce it with much anticipation. Edmund lurched, then choked on the toast he'd been munching on, and Peter clapped him on the back. Rachel snorted at their antics as she waited for Ed's airway to clear.

"Honestly?" Edmund managed to get out.

"That'd be- absolutely brilliant, Rachel, an honest-to-goodness life-saver!" Peter exclaimed joyfully.

"I know, and guess what?" She didn't bother waiting for any guesses. "I met this centaur, name of Meri- well, actually it's Meridine, but you know how that goes, but anyway, he looks _so_ much like Peri. It's honestly strange how much they look alike, but Peri and Laurel are his ancestors!" Her enthusiasm was lost on the two kings, who were now preoccupied with recruiting the Drine-Hensns. She sighed and shook her head, taking a seat on the floor in front of them.

"So Rachel, why only _might_ they come? I mean, we really need them, so . . ." Peter shrugged his shoulders. "What's stopping them?"

"Well, they're not sure it's worth it. Three thousand-" She started.

"Not sure it's worth it!" Peter interrupted angrily.

"What do you mean, they aren't sure it's worth it?" Edmund backed his brother up.

"They aren't Narnians, Sires." Rachel and Edmund blinked as the formal term resounded through the room, though Peter seemed to take it in stride. It had been a long while since she had addressed them as a general to her kings instead of as a girl to her friends. "Sires," she began again, "The herd does not owe allegiance to the nation, it is how their culture- it's just how they do things. But they did once pledge their blades to your Majesties, and I hope they will once more. I have spoken with the squadron's leader, a mare called Keriline, and she believes the herd has a duty to us, however ancient, and that their duty precludes concern over the risk they would be taking, sending all their warriors to us."

"Well, that's good. And we know how long centaurs' memories are and how seriously they take their honour, brother," Edmund turned to Peter. "And General Lona has a certain affinity with them, to boot. The situation sounds altogether hopeful, my lord."

"I'd rather it be certain than hopeful, brother," Peter said slowly. "I'd rather our peoples' lives not depend on this one decision. General, do you think there is anything else we can do to convince them?"

"I'll see them off tomorrow, as they were ordered to return within the week, to tell the elders of the situation. They've been here for two days, and the journey was three days to get here. They say they could return within two days if necessary and I told them I thought it was. We should not rest our hopes entirely on them, though, my lord." Her mouth twisted with annoyance and sadness. It was trying to have such a chance for victory before them, and yet have no way of assuring it.

"Could you return with them, to help persuade the herd elders? Do they have any of their horses with them, that you might ride at their speed? I don't believe any of ours here are capable of their rate of travel . . ." Edmund trailed off, hopeful of his idea.

"They have a few of their horses, but none are broken. And I would never leave you, my Kings, not when we are ever on the cusp of battle, as we are here."

"Thought you'd say something of the sort," Peter sighed. "I believe we have explored all options on this front, brother, general. We all shall see them off on the morrow, but for now, let us rest. Meeting adjourned?"

Edmund and Rachel nodded in acquiescence and all three head to the spring in the table room to wash up.

Clustered around the cold spurt of water, they splashed their faces and washed out their mouths. As they returned to the sleeping chamber, Peter slung an arm about Rachel's shoulders. She relaxed into his side, smiling sleepily. "That was a bit strange, was it not?" He asked, "The way we all just- were all formal for our little meeting. Like we were back in the Map Chamber, planning an attack or something."

"It felt a bit as if we were. The "sires"- it just slipped out. I dunno, it's just normal for us to revert back and forth between formal and informal. We do have fifteen years of practise doing it."

"I suppose you're right. I'm surprised at how easy it is to go back to this, but at the same time," he chuckled, "I'm not surprised at all. It's as if everything is familiar and different at the same time."

"I know exactly what you mean," she agreed, as they climbed into their respective blankets, turning to face each other. "When I was sparring with the Drine-Hensns today, it felt so normal, but-"

"You didn't." Peter flopped onto his back, hands over his face. "I hate it when you spar with the centaurs, Rachel, especially the Drine-Hensns. They outweigh you by, I dunno, must be more than a hundred stone. A hundred stone!" His hands humorously muffled his voice.

"When has that ever stopped me?" she giggled, pulling his hands from his face.

"Well, I'm supposed to be your king, so you're supposed to do what I want," he pointed out accusatorially, bringing further laughter out of Rachel.

"Nah. I'm supposed to do what's good for you, not what you want. If everyone always did what you want, we'd never leave our bedrooms so you'd be satisfied that we were never in any danger. I am definitely right, admit it."

"Yes, you probably are," he snorted in amusement, eyes closed. "I really hope they come, Rachel. It would save us, it really would." He shifted so they lay facing each other, his now open, sad blue eyes boring into hers.

"I know," she sighed. "We'll talk with them once more in the morning, but I think that's really all we can do." She brushed his fringe away from his forehead, smiling victoriously when his eyes closed and a contented smile lit his face. She hesitated, biting her lip, the shifted herself closer, laying a warm, chaste kiss on his lips. He started, then chuckled.

"What was that for?" he asked, happy surprise in his voice.

"You're being more yourself again," she answered. "Good night, Peter."

"'Night, Rachel."

"Shut up and go to sleep, you idiots!" Was grunted from behind Peter. They smothered their laughter, both uttering unnecessarily loud, "G'night Ed!"s.

"I hate you both," was his muttered response.

"Love you too, Ed," Peter whispered, bringing forth another giggle from Rachel. She sighed happily and stretched out, Peter close enough that she was touching his blankets. A yawn later, and all three were fast asleep.

It was difficult to wake up when one was underground, the three surmised. The sun never broke far enough into the tunnels for it to get any lighter when morning came, so it always felt as if one was rising in the middle of the night, even if it was quite late to get up. Rachel rose before the kings to bid farewell to the parting Drine-Hensns. She smiled, patted their flanks, and bid them a fast, easy journey. Trusting that they understood the problem, she did not believe anything she could say would change the situation or the outcome the herd elders would decide upon.

After bidding them farewell and watching them pound away to the northwest, she retired back to the sleeping cave. The sun had not yet risen and she was tired enough that another hour of sleep sounded like heaven.

Because of all this, it was past midmorning when they emerged into the sunlight the next day to find the queens and Prince Caspian seated at a delicious-looking breakfast spread.

"Good Morning, royal sisters. Caspian." He added the prince's name as if it were an irritating after-thought. Rachel rolled her eyes, now irritated herself. She was, however, not hungry, so she took a customary stance behind Peter's left shoulder as Edmund promptly sat and began buttering toast as if his life depended on it.

"Caspian," Edmund began, "You should know this- we may have just saved ourselves. Did you know of the Drine-Hensn squad staying here?" The prince nodded as he chewed a grape and the Just king continued. "Well, Rachel talked to them and they left this morning-"

"What?" Caspian burst out, horrified and furious. "What on earth did you say to them, they were the best fighters we had, you- you idiot girl!"

"Hey now, come on, let him explain-" Rachel protested with affront.

"Take it back, _NOW." _Peter's gaze was murderous, his chair upset on the ground behind him, the ringing of steel echoing as Rhindon was levelled at the prince's neck.

"Peter!" Rachel physically dragged him back as Edmund tried to calm Caspian.

"No, no, she sent them to get more warriors, we may have as many as three thousand Drine-Hensn here to help within a week! Caspian, there is no need to be angry! -And I would apologise to Peter if I were you," Edmund added with a lowered voice. "He takes it very personally when one of us is insulted, honour and all that, y'know." The king clapped a hand on a flabbergasted Caspian's shoulder.

"Three _thousand?_ Truly? I will kiss her, I will!"

"No, Caspian, that's really a very bad-" Edmund tried to catch up, but the suddenly over-joyed young Telmarine was beside Peter and Rachel before he could get to the prince. Caspian grabbed the general and pecked her on the mouth.

"General, I cannot thank you enough, you may have sav-" _Whump._ Peter's fist drove the taller young man to the ground.

"No, Peter!" Rachel, though thoroughly stunned by Caspian's kiss, threw herself onto the blonde king, wrestling to still his fists by clamping his arms to his sides. "Ed, a little help!"

The younger monarch raced to the three as Caspian regained his feet.

"Brother!" Ed shouted into Peter's face, shaking his shoulders. "Be reasonable, by Aslan!" Peter stilled, a reaction to both the volume of his brother's voice and the name that had been invoked.

"_What?", _ the older boy ground out, practically spitting in his Edmund's face as Rachel forcefully kept his arms at his sides. "First he insults Rachel, then he- he kisses her? What do you want me to do, HAVE A BLOODY PARTY ABOUT IT!" He breathed heavily, staring with desperate anger at the Just king.

"Rachel, talk Caspian over the Drine-Hensn situation. Peter and I need to have a chat."

The general hesitantly released the High King and took Caspian aside as Edmund dragged Peter towards the How.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You can't punch people whenever they offend you-" The dark-haired king gestured wildly at his enraged brother.

"He _kissed_ her-

"Or when they make a move on Rachel, not that that's what he was doing, because it obviously wasn't! You do have a brain, Peter, but you sure have forgotten how to use it! He was mad because he had no idea what she was talking about, and he kissed her because he was happy! Because he realised he and everyone who is fighting for him, for the cause he believes in, might have a chance, might live free instead of dying on a bloody battlefield! You of all people should understand that, Peter, you and Caspian have a lot in common, if you would just-"

Peter cut off his brother's rant. "I am _nothing_ like that traitor!"

"Yes, actually, you are! Now go off and think about that for a good while and stop acting like a arrogant prat!" Edmund shoved his brother into the How and glared down dark hallway, covering his face with his palm when his brother let out a roar of frustration and continued down the tunnel, lashing out at the undeserving walls.

The younger king returned to the breakfast table to find the others discussing the history of the Drine-Hensns and their connections to the Pevensie's rule. Lucy looked up as Ed dropped heavily back into his seat, and her eyes flicked to Peter's up-ended chair, brows raising in question.

"I don't think I handled that very well," the king sighed. He glanced sadly at his buttered toast; he was no longer in the mood for it.

"I'm sorry. Maybe I'll go talk to him-" Lucy started, but Edmund interrupted her.

"I don't think so Lucy, he'll only bite your head off. He's bloody unreasonable now, he just needs to calm down . . ." he trailed off, then glanced up and winced at the blossoming black eye on Caspian's face. "Oh, I'm really sorry about your eye, Caspian, it's just-"

"It was no fault of your own, King Edmund." The prince inclined his head gravely. "General Lona has explained- well -everything, and it is I who should apologise-"

"Don't, it isn't at all excusable-"

"Yes, he is being a perfect beast-" Susan echoed Lucy's words from the woods.

"Ed? Su? Let's just forget about it, shall we?" Rachel stepped in, biting her lip. She clapped Caspian on the shoulder and nodded to Susan hopefully, who nodded.

"Of course, we shall put such ugly matters behind us. Tea, anyone?" 'The perfect courtly diplomat, Susan was. She could smooth over any dispute with a joke supplied by Lucy, and the suggestion of nourishment,' Edmund thought appreciatively of his sisters as Rachel beckoned him away from the breakfast spread.

"So?" She held her voice low. "How is he? Still being a complete idiot?"

"I think he's going to be very angry with himself once he calms down, if that's anything to go on . . ." Ed shrugged. "But I honestly don't know if that'll really fix our situation."

"Yeah." Rachel leaned against an outer wall of the How as she agreed with her younger king. "I just can't believe he's being so unreasonable, I thought he was getting better . . ."

"I think that just sent him over the edge though, what Caspian said- and, er, did, I guess -to you." Ed took a seat on the grass and Rachel joined him.

"Well- _why?" _Quite confused, she elaborated, "What was so bad about that- I've been insulted, nearly killed, in front of him and he hasn't reacted so badly-"

Yes, but things between you and him haven't been so- so- I don't know, so strange and just _off _when it's happened before. He's talked to me about it," Ed admitted sheepishly. He swept his hair back and continued rather awkwardly. "I wish he wouldn't, I always tell him not to, but- he's told me how you two don't- y'know- it isn't the same, er . . . between you, as it has been-"

"Yeah, get it, Ed!" Rachel burst out to stop him in embarrassment. "No need to go on about that. Okay, but really, why didn't he just talk to _me_?"

"I- _He_ said that he knew how you felt, and he didn't know why, but he didn't want to make it awkward, so-"

"Aslan, he is so _stupid," _she groaned. "He should've just talked to me, and then maybe none of this . . . ugh. _Stupid_."

"Yeah-"

"Want to spar? Sorry, you know I can't talk about feelings without wanting to hit something . . ." She shrugged apologetically.

Ed chuckled. "Just lucky, aren't I, that I'm what you want to hit?"

"I mean, I can find someone else, probably . . ."

He laughed again and clapped her on the shoulder. "I'd be glad to, Rachel. And who knows, maybe by the time we're done, our newly crowned king of stupidity will have gotten over himself!"

Rachel's shoulders drooped as her mind left the realm of leather and sharpened steel and returned to her currently infuriating High King. "You don't want to make me this mad before we spar, Ed, I don't even know what I'd do if I saw Peter right now . . ."

"Let's just hit each other then, alright?"

"Alright."

Rachel, who, having donned light armour as well as her dagger, buckler, and scimitar, stood outside the entrance to the How, calmly stretching her hamstrings. Edmund was next to her, doing the same, also dressed to spar. Peter found the pair of them chatting as they prepared to duel.

"What're you two doing?" he asked, though it was quite obvious.

"Sparring," was Rachel's sharp reply as she kept her eyes on Edmund, who had walked out into the open and was spinning his chosen weapons- twin swords -in deadly silver circles. They met in a crash of iron and steel, moving quicker that the soldiers who had surreptitiously gathered around the field could believe.

"Wait!-"

The duelers stopped at Peter's hushed cry, their spectators letting out a quickly cut-off groan at the disruption of the match.

"What is it, Peter?" Edmund asked irritably. The High King sidled over to the armoured pair, looking furtively about at the soldiers circled about them.

"Well, if this is going to be a sort of exhibition, which it obviously already is, don't you think it should be you and I should be sparring or Rachel and I?"

"Why would we do that?" Rachel looked at Peter with righteous and utter confusion.

"Because he's the High King," Ed supplied acidly, annoyance written clearly in his features.

"So? We're the better duelers. I mean, Peter's a bit more effective in full-fledged battle just because he's bigger, no offense Ed-"

"None taken."

"-but for one on one, you're better. Do you not agree, Peter?" she challenged him.

"Well, I see your point, but-" he continued to protest.

"Look, why don't me and Ed spar first, then you can duel with him." She nodded once at her solution, then looked to the kings.

"Oh. Alright. I'll- I'll spar with Ed then . . ." Peter nodded in response, though 'not with you' hung in the air as he walked back to the How to watch from the entrance.

Rachel and Ed squared off again, circling each other warily. Edmund rushed forward in a quick frontal attack, but it was almost a feint as he was five feet away from her the next second, having kept running during the double strike he had executed, parried by Rachel's scimitar and buckler. She grinned at him, completely back into her area of expertise; combat. She bent her knees, prepared for the next attack, which came almost identical to the first, but as she parried, she stuck out her foot to trip Edmund, who jumped to avoid, but did not manage to avoid the buckler, which Rachel rammed him with while he was still in the air. He came down and stumbled, and she struck like a cobra, lightning fast. The pair battered away at each other- they used few intricate maneuvers, but the combinations and passes used were so fast and flawless that Ed's twin Telmarine blades and Rachel's scimitar were ribbons of mirror on the field, their rhythm of clangs and clashes interrupted every so often as Rachel employed her buckler for a body blow instead of a tool for deflection. They were beginning to tire and slow. Neither would have stopped normally, would have fought until they were blue in the face and unable to move, but it was more of an exhibition than a friendly contest, so Rachel pulled out her dagger. Because she did, she was distracted for half a second, which Edmund used to get a blade under her defenses. She reacted quickly, however, and in quite an unorthodox fashion. Twisting so the blade slid in the space between her side and arm, she clamped the king's arm under hers, kicked his legs out from under him so that she landed on top of him in the dirt. Then, before he could get up, put a knee on one of his wrists, pushed the other down with her sword hand, and put her dagger to his throat.

Edmund and Rachel separated; she gave him a hand up, then both sheathed their blades on their backs, Rachel unstrapping the buckler from her arm, her dagger still held loosely in her hand. The field was silent, despite the great number of warriors surrounding it. Ed looked up, hearing Peter's voice echo across the small plain. He was speaking to the centaur general, Glenstorm.

" . . . one of her signature moves," he was saying. The younger king nodded. Both he and Peter- along with any who sparred or actually fought against Rachel, had often been beaten or killed with her kneeling on their chests. Edmund always thought that it had something to do with how short Rachel was, and that she had some subconscious need to bring her opponent lower than her before defeating them. Peter was still speaking . . . "She likes to be on top." He chuckled. Then a minotaur standing near them let out a roaring guffaw from the High King's suggestive joke at the expense of his own general. A bolt of silver flew past his head. Rachel strode past him to collect her dagger. She had thrown it into the doorframe entrance to the How, perhaps an inch from the minotaur's neck. Ed, following her, almost took a step back when he saw her face, darkened with anger, eyes shadowed and snapping.

"Oops." Her voice was a ice-cold growl. "Must've just slipped out of my hand." She yanked the dagger out and marched into the How to return with her bandolier of throwing knives. She stalked off into the woods, calling out to Ellie, a dappled grey Horse she had ridden in arms practice. The sounds of the pair crashing through the forest resounded back to the How.

Edmund stopped next to Peter. The younger king looked up into his brother's eyes with disgust, and shook his head. "Really, Peter? _Really?_ You've known the girl for nigh on twenty years. You didn't think that would bother her?"

"Well- well, I didn't think she would hear . . . " he trailed off lamely and looked away from Ed's accusatory glare.

"You might have considered that she doesn't even know this army. If we were with her troops, she may not have cared so much. Maybe you should think next time you open your mouth, _High King_." He made the title into an insult, then roughly brushed past the older boy.

Lucy and Caspian had watched the sparring match and its aftermath from a perch on top of the How.

"Where is she going?" asked the dark haired young man.

"To find a patrol of Telmarines, I expect."

"To fight them? She's just one girl, she'll be killed!" His face related shock and fear.

"You've just seen her fight, Caspian. And she's angry. If she were to fight for practice now, she'd be in danger of hurting, maybe even killing, someone." The young queen shrugged. She knew this about her friend. It was nothing new or surprising, though it did, of course, always cause the sweet and caring girl at bit of fear for the defender.

"Has she that little self control?" he scoffed. Lucy turned to him, angry warning sparking in her eyes.

"Peter is a warrior, as is Edmund, as are you. As are most soldiers. They fight, you fight, when it is necessary. Rachel is something else. She is- a killer, I suppose. Violence doesn't bother her- in fact, she lives for it." The prince drew back in disgust. "She has a good heart, Caspian. She would never really hurt a soul who meant her no harm. At least not seriously." The young queen grinned, then turned sombre again. "It's the way she is Caspian. We need her. She's wonderful in her own way, but she's death to any in her path when she's wants, and she loves it. Sure, there's something a bit wrong with that. But it doesn't hurt her, nor any she cares about. That's just the way it is with her. You just have to get used to it, learn to accept it."

"And- I'm sorry, but- how can King Peter be, well, attracted to a monst- um, someone, like that?"

"She really isn't a monster Caspian. You know she isn't, any time she speaks to you. She's innocent as I. But she's what keeps him going, often enough. They can do everything together, and he has that with no one else but Ed. No other girl but Rachel could follow him everywhere he must go, nor would every girl understand and support him as well save for me and Su. But lately . . . he seems to have forgotten that. He seems to have forgotten most things about us." Lucy gazed off into nothingness before coming back to herself. "I apologize, Caspian, you don't want to hear about this-"

"Queen Lucy, it is quite all right. At least now I understand that I am not the only one affected by the High Kings- temper." Lucy gave only a sad smile in response.

In actuality, Rachel never got to even search for an enemy patrol. Crashing through the forest, Peter pulled up in front of her on a dumb bay gelding, causing Ellie to rear and Rachel to slip off the saddle-less mare. Picking herself up off the ground, she rounded on Peter, who had dismounted to apologise. "Rachel, I'm sorry, are you-"

"You know what?" She growled. She reached up and unsheathed Ally, raising the blade at Peter with a quivering hand. The High King took a deep breath that could have been described as a gasp of fear; he had pushed Rachel farther than he had realised. Though he knew the girl would never hurt him, the knowledge was not enough to dispel the trepidation he felt with a naked blade aimed at his neck and a dangerously angry swords mistress at the end of it. Biting his lip, Peter thought hard. He felt insurmountable guilt and sorrow over his comment; it had merely been a slip of the tongue, a thoughtless phrase uttered without consideration of the company to which it was audible. The truth, he decided, would be the best policy. Though Rachel could rarely tell when she was lied to- it was why she never made a good spy or diplomat- she needed to understand that he had not meant to insult her.

"Rachel, please! Let me explain," he pleaded.

"What is there to explain?" she hissed.

"Please, just listen." He tentatively raised his hand and pushed her scimitar down. As the point came to face the ground, he watched her anger and resolve crumble into sadness and betrayal, her shoulders slumping, expression breaking from venomous to pained. She sank to her knees, her face screwing up so as to stop the tears that glistened at the corners of her eyes. His chest tight with worry and regret, he gently picked up the scimitar that had fallen from her limp grasp, returning it to the sheath belted to her back. He lowered himself to his knees and carefully put a hand on her arm, but she jerked away, desperately trying to keep her tears from falling. She pushed herself back until she sat against a tree, arms bound tightly about her knees. Letting out a moan of frustration, Rachel took her hands from her face and stared Peter in the face, her eyes red and bloodshot. The sight of her, so helpless and broken, made his heart ache, it was unbearable, and he had to fix it.

"Look, it really isn't what you said." She spoke softly, her expression so distressed he almost rose to go to her- but she would never let him touch her, he realised. "That was . . . I just- I just can't take it anymore, Peter!" She angrily dashed a palm across her eyes. "I can't _stand _you sometimes, which is really terrible, because I st- . . . never mind. Just leave me alone, okay? Please, a few days." She raised herself to her feet, walking as if a great weight rested on her shoulders.

"Rachel, wait!" He would not let her leave, she couldn't leave him! He rushed to her, but she tripped him, pushed him to the ground, and raced away into the forest.

The walk back to camp was long. Peter went over his actions in the past weeks. So many realisations crashed into consciousness, his cheeks became red from dropping his face into his hands. His eyes became bloodshot as he went over his actions in not only the past weeks but the last year. He had been arrogant, for one, but even worse was his treatment of his siblings, especially Edmund, as well as Rachel. He had ignored them, convinced of his own opinions. He had not truly considered the fact that the other four were experiencing the same withdrawal from their homeland as he was, having been selfishly wrapped up in his own feelings. He had acted as a spoiled child, not a king, and had used his royalty as an excuse for misbehaviour . . .

"God, how awful I was. Why did they not tell me . . . " But they had, had tried, at least. Susan and Lucy were another matter. He had not been as gentle with them as he should have. He had stopped comforting Lucy after her nightmares, forgetting that they were due to no childish fears but were probably memories of soldiers she had been unable to reach in time with her cordial. He knew it had always tortured her when it happened, but he had forgotten she was a queen in her twenties, not a child with no bad experiences but primary school misdemeanours. Susan bore the separation best out of them all, he thought. But still, he knew the loss of responsibility and duty had left her feeling cheap and worthless; yet, she coped with the feeling incomparably better than he had. And Edmund. His only brother, whom he had saved and been saved by countless times, he had treated not as a king but as a child, no longer a best friend and trusted comrade, but an irritation.

He winced when he thought back to how he had interacted with Rachel. Overly perceptive of peoples' hesitation and dislike as she was, she sensed it instantly when he started to treat her as barely more than an acquaintance, in England, when he forgot what and who she was to him, what she had done for him. She and Edmund had stood together admirably against his indifference, but it didn't make him feel better about how he had acted.

The back of his neck prickled as he walked through the How's entrance. A cold draft blew his fringe out of his eyes as he neared the table room and an involuntary shiver ran down his back. He detected raised voices in the room- one was scared, the other rough and authoritative, making him grate his teeth for some unknown reason as he listened to it chanting. Something was most definitely wrong. He sped his walk into a lope and slid to a halt inside the door space.

It was as if everything had gone silent. The bottom dropped out from his stomach and a black fear locked about his chest, squeezing the breath from him. She was gone, she was! She had very nearly succeeded in taking two of the few people nearest to his heart, she had almost killed him, but Aslan had gotten her in the end, he'd seen it with his own two eyes- yet she was here, in a circle of her poisonous ice, leering down at some helpless soul. He stood, frozen in shock and memory, in the doorway- and then his eyes fell on Caspian. She would kill him! He was moving before he realised it, his sword naked in his hand.

"You!" It was all he could get out as he landed in front of the prince. Her pale eyes caught his and he could not look away, could not move anymore. She was terrifyingly beautiful, white skin, perfect features, tempting figure . . . he knew something was wrong, but he didn't know what anymore . . . But suddenly she was screaming, a blade protruding from her chest! He was outraged, fire racing through his veins; how could anyone destroy something so flawless- then reality crashed down on him like the ice that cascaded in an avalanche in front of him. There was a blur of motion behind him, a broken scream, and Edmund stood in front of him, sword still extended, this time brandished at something behind him. Peter whirled, Rhindon still thankfully in his hand. He glimpsed their opponents, a werewolf in the corner of the room closest to himself, a hag leering his brother, and Nikabrik the Black Dwarf staring murderously at Caspian, and then everything seemed to happen in slow motion, but also too fast to process. He stabbed the werewolf as it leapt at him, the action pure reflex, one that had saved him in a similar fashion the first time he had ever taken a life. He vaguely registered a rough, anguished scream to him left that was abruptly extinguished, and a deeper, wild cry that also rapidly shorted out. His breath came startlingly fast, and as he panted he turned to his brother, intending to thank him. Edmund's face was darkened with irritation and anger which adeptly concealed his fear. "I know," the dark-haired king snapped. "You had it sorted." He turned and strode out of the room as Caspian regained his senses.

"Was that-"

"Yes." Peter heaved a groaning sigh in aggravation at himself. He had almost let the crown prince of Narnia be killed- or worse -and the only reason he himself was in his right mind was because his brother had had the good sense to check on things. Lives should never be left up to chance like that, and it was completely his fault- he had left Caspian unguarded, with no one to look after him, make sure nothing like this happened . . . He shook his head and gathered his wits. "Yes, that was the White Witch. I'm so sorry for leaving you with those- creatures. I should have known, somehow-"

"King Peter, the fault is mine." The Telmarine prince sighed heavily. "I should not have allowed myself to be taken in by their advances. They promised an easy solution when I was well aware no such solution existed. I apologise profusely for endangering everyone over my inexcusable stupidity." Caspian looked truly distraught and utterly disappointed in himself, and before he knew it, Peter had laid a consoling hand on the other boy's shoulder.

"Call me Peter, Prince. And the fault is mine." The blonde king offered a small, sheepish smile, and was rewarded when Caspian hesitated, then nodded.

"Perhaps we should agree to share the blame, Peter." The prince glanced up at the king, a hopeful smile lighting his face.

"All right then. And now, if you will excuse me, I must find my brother."

Peter found Edmund in the armoury, kneeling by a bench, fletching the arrow shafts that lay piled neatly next to a mound of wood shavings by the wall. The boy's dark eyes narrowed when he raised his head to see who disturbed him.

"What do you want?" He turned back to the bench and resumed his careful selection of dove feathers.

"Ed . . ." Peter sank to his knees beside his brother, who continued to pointedly ignore his gaze. "I don't know if you can forgive me- I don't know if you should . . . but I need to say that I am so, so sorry for how I've been acting. Ever since we got back- to England, I mean -I've been- well, I've been just horrid to you all, haven't I?"

"'Little bit, yeah."

At Edmund's razor sharp but characteristic understatement Peter felt a tiny grin pass over his face in spite of himself. "Please, Edmund-" Peter put a hand on Edmund's shoulder and thanked Aslan that his brother did not shrug away. Edmund sighed, put aside his fletching knife, and turned to face Peter, looking him straight in the eye. Peter's brows knit as he saw the pained expression contorting Ed's face. "What . . .?"

"_What_? What the hell do you think, Peter? What are you playing at? That- that witch is the most evil thing any of us have ever encountered, and if I hadn't- I don't even want to think about it." The younger king's fiery expression flickered as a flash of pure excruciation passed across his eyes.

"I _know._ You left before- Look, I didn't have it sorted, it was completely out of my control, and you're right, I don't want to even consider what would have come to pass had you not come in when you did. You were right Ed, you always are. And you shouldn't forgive me, but- but I hope you do anyway," he finished softly, breaking eye contact with the just king, whose smouldering dark eyes continued to bore holes into his brother's blue ones. Edmund then let his gaze drop, and reached out to grasp the fletching knife. Peter tensed, then relaxed as Edmund began again to slice up his chosen feathers. "I'll just- just leave you to this then, shall I?" The fair-haired boy raised himself up to leave, pausing in the doorway to glance back once more at his brother.

"Peter-"

"Yes?"

"Brother, I am very glad you've come to your senses, but- it's a little hard to accept that you're just, just _back_ now, you know."

"I am, er, back- I promise. Honestly!" He found himself grabbing Edmund's shoulders and dropped his hands, staring at the ground in shame. "I'm sorry . . ."

His heart leapt as he felt a hand on his own shoulder. "It's all right Peter. I will forgive you-" An pained, mildly sarcastic grimace crossed the younger boy's face as he was abruptly enveloped in a bear hug. He took a deep breath and secretly allowed himself to enjoy the embrace, basking in the safety and comfort he had not felt in a great deal of time.

"Caspian!" He heard his name, shouted by a female voice over the great noise of metal being melted and beaten into weapons and armour. "Hey, Prince Caspian." He recognized the round rosy-cheeked face and soft figure of General Lona. He nervously tried to smile back at her cheerful, inquiring expression. "Would you mind sparring with me a bit? It's just that, I've never fought Telmarines before, so I thought I could get used to the style before any real combat. Peter and Ed should too, of course, but they're busy, so . . . ?" She smiled up at him again, appearing quite the innocent young girl. Caspian wondered how she did it- young and sweet and nothing to take note of one moment, but the next, a dangerous, intimidating warrior.

"Sure," he replied carefully. "Just don't take my head off, alright?" She giggled. It was not reassuring to the prince.

The two squared off in front of the How. Rachel had instructed him to wear everything he would in battle, so he obliged, donning a mask-like helmet, leather and chain mail armour, a solid sort of rapier, and a large rectangular shield.

"Okay, we'll start slow," she called to him. He nodded. She swung her scimitar at his side with much deliberation. He blocked with his shield and stabbed directly at her chest but found it blocked by her small round shield- buckler, that's what she called it -and her scimitar was, as was possible with a curved blade, at the back of his neck, touching the exposed skin. He froze. She giggled. "Calm down, I'm not gonna hurt you." Her speech sounded quite different from the other four Golden Age children.

"Why is your voice different from the others?" he called as they separated and readied for another exchange of blows.

"Where we're from- I come from a different country. Like you sound different from the Narnians and the Pevensies, it's the same thing with me."

"Oh." Interesting. It had never occurred to him that all five were not from the same place. This time the defender attacked. Her blade flashed through the air, and what first appeared to be an overhand chop curved into a slash at Caspian's legs. He lowered his stance to employ his shield. He was hit in the side of the head with a gentle blow from the buckler. He cursed, earning yet another giggle from the girl.

Following their brief, yet enlightening sparring lesson, Caspian and Rachel strolled around the clearing, cooling off after discarding their armour near the How. "You are quite impressive, you know- Rachel." She had only just gotten him to call her by her first name- it still fell awkwardly off his tongue.

"How so?" She asked calmly.

"Well, just, if any Telmarine girls tried to do the same as you . . . it probably wouldn't end very well." He shook his head and grimaced, imagining.

"I haven't always been this good, you know."

"I'm sure." But he could not truly believe it. He could not see the general as a helpless girl, unable to defend herself, weak . . .

"Really, Caspian. I may be meant for this life, but really . . . Peter's a natural talent with a blade, and Ed's always had his speed and coordination. I haven't. I _really _haven't," and she made a face.

"Really? So how are- how did you get to be as you are?" Caspian cocked his head to one side, chewing his tongue.

Rachel smiled understandingly. "Well, at first I was horrible- honestly, atrocious. I got all these weapons from Father Christmas- that's where Pete, Lucy, and Su got their weapons, and of course where Lu's cordial is from. Anyway, I couldn't hit _anything_ with the knives- that's what took me the longest to learn- and I had _no_ coordination, I'd trip all the time, I was beaten in every practice. Lion's Mane, it was by sheer luck and miracles that I wasn't killed in our first battle at Beruna."

"Wait- truly? And even if- then, how do you fight now?" The girl grinned up at him, shaking her head.

"I did what everyone has to do to get better at something- I practiced. A _lot_. The first time I beat Peter . . . that was pretty amazing." Her eyes lit up at the memory. "He couldn't believe it, but I think it's what made him start thinking about me as a real general and a warrior. Ed said he knew it was coming for him, but it actually took me another year to beat him-"

"You could beat the High King but not his brother?"

"Ed's better at single combat than Peter is. It's to do with speed versus size, you know." The defender shrugged.

"Oh."

She chuckled. "Pete's not happy about it either, Caspian. No, but I swear, the only reason I'm better than them is because my job was to fight, so I had time to learn, whereas weapons training was only a part of what they had to deal with. I mean, they did have a country to run."

"Yes. But I doubt that." How could the way the general handled her blades be anything but natural?

"What?"

"That you would have been worse than the kings-"

"Trust me, Caspian. You don't know how much I trained- and you didn't see how awful I was at first." The young man simply shook his head with disbelief. She put in one final justification for her explanation. "I'm not saying that- well, I suppose determination was what let me be as good as I was." She shrugged, then looked up, her eyes seeing something other than the prince's face, a dreamlike smile falling over her features. "That, and how much I love it." She sighed with joy, and Caspian shivered. He would never be completely at peace with someone so happy with bloodshed and war. "I'm sorry. I'm talking too much about fighting- I always end up scaring people when I do . . . talk to Peter, he'll sympathize." Caspian stared at the grass beneath his feet and smiled; he just might do that. "What're you smiling at?" The cheerful query interrupted his happy thoughts concerning the terms under which he had left the High King.

"Nothing- well, it is not nothing. I think the High King and I may be starting to get along- though the price for it was quite steep." He ran a hand through his hair, shaking away thoughts of what could have been, had the younger king not destroyed the white demon witch. Rachel beside him was utterly perplexed.

"Wh- just . . . _what? _What happened? I mean, I'm certainly glad he finally is seeing reason- but yeah . . . " she trailed off in question, staring uncertainly up at him.

"Oh- I thought you knew! I just- assumed- well. I don't really know how to explain-"

"Caspian, spit it out! What happened?" Rachel's brows pulled together as she threw her hands out anxiously.

Caspian did not do a terribly good job of explaining the events to her. However, he did manage to get the general gist across, which had the general sprinting back to the How within seconds of learning the witch had clawed her way back into existence, even if she was no longer a threat. Rachel hadn't noticed that her helmet and gauntlets had dropped from her hands at the first mention of the witch. She could not even seem to take a whole breath as she ran full out to the entrance to the tunnels under the How. Images, horrible and real, passed before her eyes as she tried to watch the grassy terrain beneath her feet so as not to trip. It was not logical. Caspian had made the strongly expressed point that no one was in danger anymore, that Edmund had taken the threat of the witch away. Rachel knew he would be the most traumatised by what had happened- she could not imagine what he must be feeling at the moment. She could imagine what Peter was feeling, and it was awful. She knew he would blame it all on himself, feel terrible about placing Caspian, and thus Narnia, in danger and even worse for allowing Ed to so much as lay eyes on the past cause of so much fear and doubt of his. But these were secondary concerns for the general. Her chief fear was for the lives of the kings. She had seen for herself that Caspian was completely intact, but her kings, Peter and Edmund . . . it was as if her mind was convinced that she was back on the fields at Beruna, seeing all she held dear tortured and murdered before her, Ed's blood staining the grass, Peter running towards an adversary he could not hope to conquer, running towards his death . . .

She caught herself on the entrance to the How, gasping for air, out of breath from the sprint, but mostly from utterly irrational fear. The general squeezed her eyes shut and felt tears beneath her eyelids. Her muscles were painfully tensed, it hurt to breathe . . . _stop. Get a grip, there is no danger._ She forced her breathing to slow, her arms, chest, and legs to relax. She quietly removed her armour and left it in an orderly pile in a side room, all the while putting every effort into controlling the tempest in her head, a fury and fear strong enough to fuel a full-fledged battle. She knew the feeling, remembered it well, too well. She had been better at controlling it, more practised in any event, before they had left Narnia. Well, she thought, better work on controlling it once more. And better now than before any currently occurring emergency. She walked as quickly as she could, not allowing herself to run, through the tunnels. She asked the first creature she laid eyes on, a elderly female racoon, where she might find the kings. Pointed in the direction of their shared sleeping quarters, she nodded tightly, glad there would be no observers in the smaller cave.

Her heart leapt in relief as she saw them, Peter folding his blankets, quietly sharing words with Edmund, who was seated and polishing his helmet. They were alive. She was behind Edmund without a thought in her head, pure instinct guiding her. Her arms fastened in a powerful embrace about his shoulders, cheek pressed to his smooth dark locks. She pressed a hard kiss each side of his head as tears began to escape from her eyes.

"Rachel! Wha-" In the instant she heard his voice, the timbre and pitch of it she knew better than any other, she was standing, and she shoved Peter against the wall behind him. How dare he almost get himself killed, she hadn't even been there to defend him, what if- her thoughts dissolved into a raging storm of worry and love and relief, raised to such a pitch as she had not felt in what seemed like an eternity. She collapsed into his startled arms, tears running down his leather jerkin in a display of emotion she would be mortified with if, in the moment, she possessed an ounce of real sense. She was grateful when he allowed them to sink to the floor, for her legs would have soon collapsed under her. She felt a squeeze on her shoulder, then a smudge in her bleary vision as Ed left them. She clung to the solid warmth beneath her, she couldn't get enough of knowing he was _alive . . . _

She awoke and pulled her face from something smelling of Peter and leather, though mostly leather. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve- they were dirty for some reason- she suddenly realised where she was.

"Peter!"

"Hello." He smiled with such happiness that she beamed back, and he hugged her to him, feeling her familiar soft lines over him, so comforting and wonderful and right. Rachel started to sit up, but Peter just moved her closer to him, drawing her face closer, his soft lips closing over hers, and she thought of nothing but responding in kind.

An hour or so later Ed ran into the room, grim-faced and accompanied by a very worried Caspian.

"Glad you two have made up, but we have company," he reported tersely. Caspian, quite unused to comfortably walking in on a sleeping couple, nervously averted his eyes and Rachel and Peter immediately donned armour and weapons to match the prince and younger king.

"What's up?" Peter asked as he threw on his chain-mail shirt.

"Telmarines. We've done all we can to slow them, but we still need more time before the Drine-Hensns can get here."

"Are there any more options we have to halt bridge construction?"

"It's done," Edmund replied to Rachel's query.

"What? How?"

"They finished it during the night, devious bastards," Caspian joined the conversation.

"What else can we do?" Rachel but her lip as she slung her bandolier of knives over her head."

"Diversionary diplomatics," Edmund supplied.

"Yes . . ." Peter agreed. "And- I've got an idea. You aren't going to like it- you especially-" He nodded at Rachel, who groaned.

"What is it?" She sighed in resignation.

"It has to be me, I'm the only one he'll even begin to consider an equal, if what you've told us is true, Caspian." Peter looked into the dark eyes of the prince, nodded, then turned to face his brother and general. "Single combat. I believe it's our only way to stall them. Any other ideas?" The small room was silent, and Peter knew there really was no other option, not if Rachel and Edmund were not protesting. The were nothing if not realists, and he could not thank Aslan enough for it. "Caspian? How should we go about this? I will write the challenge, but who should we send with the request? You know the politics of this land better than I, I bow to your knowledge." And he did, though it tested the limits of every protective instinct he had.

Caspian watched as Lucy ran past him to join her eldest brother. They gazed together out across the fields to the Telmarine encampment. Peter looked as if he were a rock, so hardened with tension and worry was he. The little queen stared up at his face, earnestly saying something that Caspian couldn't make out, trying to comfort the High King. She placed her hand in his, and they stood like this, Caspian watching the two Golden Age monarchs, Peter and Lucy gazing with frightening intensity at the camp, as if by the power of their eyes, they could make their brother and friend return unscathed by the army of enemies into which they had been sent. First the giant became visible, then Glenstrom, and finally, the sunlight flashing as it glanced off their plate armour, King Edmund's dark head and General Lona's lighter hair came into view. Peter's shoulders relaxed minutely. They could not be too badly hurt if they could walk- at least that was what he was repeating to himself under his breath. Caspian approached the pair with much trepidation.

"It seems they return unharmed, Peter." He said it hopefully, but his smile fell away as he met the High King's razor-sharp stare.

"Our brother and general are not back yet, Caspian. Never tempt fate." Peter turned back to his vigil, leaving the prince gaze at the tunnel floor. Small feet appeared in his field of vision. Lucy took his hand and led him into a side room.

"Don't bother about him, especially now. Something much the same has happened before- it's why he so scared."

"What happened?" He looked up into the concerned eyes of the queen.

"Edmund and Rachel left with an entourage to visit one of our allies, in Galma. It wasn't Galma that took them, but it was a diplomatic sort of mission . . . In any case, their ship was taken by pirates and their entourage was sold off into slavery."

"What happened to King Edmund and Rachel?"

Lucy's face darkened. "I'm still surprised they survived. Ed nearly lost both his legs, but Rachel says the only reason they made it to shore was because he wouldn't stop ordering her to swim. 'Said it's the most annoying he's ever managed to be. And she wasn't fine either, her back didn't have any skin on it, they'd whipped her so much, and she had stab wounds as well . . . but they were on her arms, so she could kick, and Ed could steer. It was a miracle they got back, and I've never- I've never seen Peter more frightening or more frightened than when he found them on the beach. He had a navy for us in less than a year, and went hunting pirates for so long once they were healed . . . it's the longest I've gone without seeing him. Anyway, I just thought you should know that." She patted his hand, raising her eyebrows at his utterly shocked face. "What is it?"

"I just- you're all so young, I never remember that you're . . ."

"Old?" She smiled mischievously up at him and then nodded in agreement. "I know. It makes birthdays rather amusing sometimes."

Caspian shook his head at her flippancy. The pair rejoined Peter, who had not moved an inch. He nodded stiffly at them as they came level with him, then turned his icy stare back to the negotiation party. He emerged into the sunlight as the returning group came within ten metres of the entrance.

"Brother," Edmund greeted Peter. The younger king stood still, his eyes raised as if asking the heavens for patience as Peter circled him, eyes searching for any concealed injury. He gave a final sort of nod, then pulled the dark-haired boy into a crushing embrace, visibly forcing himself to release his brother, who was rolling his eyes while wearing a good-natured smile. Caspian chuckled at Edmund's long-suffering sigh as he stepped aside and came to stand between Lucy and the prince. Rachel walked carefully up to Peter and sank, with a sense a familiarity, onto one knee, head bowed as she acknowledged subserviently, "My King."

"Will he, or will he not restrain himself is the question. Let us see . . ." Edmund's voice drawled next to Caspian. "Five pieces of toast he holds out." Caspian glanced with utter confusion between the siblings.

Lucy cracked a grin and responded. "No chance. You get to lose to me at knife-throwing in front of all the soldiers." The younger Pevensies turned back just as Peter finished his circuit around his General, checking for injuries. "And I win." Lucy smirked at her dark-haired brother.

"-Maybe he's just helping her up," Edmund protested. He was wrong, though. Peter had seized Rachel's hands, removed her helmet to shove it under his arm, and held her face in his hands for a few seconds, then crushed his lips to hers. This lasted long enough for it to be embarrassing for Caspian, and funny to Lucy and Edmund. Giggling, the royal siblings watched as Rachel, still attached to Peter at the mouth, took hold of the boy's shoulders and gently pushed him back a step. She was smiling with amusement at his marginally abashed face; he had obviously not meant to make such a show. She patted his vambrace and led the way back to the How.

"Are you looking forward to being laughed at?" Caspian heard Lucy ask her brother, as the three of them retreated further down the tunnel to make room for those entering.

"Who's being laughed at?" Rachel's curious voice raised laughter from the younger monarchs.


	6. Chapter 6

Lucy held her face in her hands. It face hurt from the worry it held in its contorted innocent contours. Her brothers fought, often during their reign, yet, this notion of Peter having stand alone against an older, larger man, who had not spent the past year as a schoolboy, struck her terrified. He would have no army about him, not brother nor defender to protect him . . .

"Lucy?" Susan had found her, leaning against the tunnel wall outside the war council. The decision had been made hours ago, Edmund had returned with the Giant, Wimbleweather, and the centaur general, Glenstorm, from bringing the challenge and negotiating the terms of combat with King Miraz and the rest of the Telmarines. However, here she stood, still quietly being frightened out of her wits by the potential slaughter of her oldest brother in front of her eyes.

"Hmm?" She heard herself squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again, her voice still coming out too high-pitched. "Yes, Susan?" Her sister put a gentle arm around her shoulders.

"Lucy, are you alright?" Susan's voice was soft and worried. Lucy sniffed. She felt the tears coming, she tried to stop them- but she could not.

"N-n-no . . ." Lucy turned her head to sob into Susan's sleeve. Her heart felt rent, as if it were bleeding tears into her chest, which also felt too small, as if it constricted her every breath. The young girl attempted to gather her wits. "H-h-how can he do it? Peter! He can't- can't leave us- what are we meant to do, watch him be- be . . . " She couldn't stop the next coughing sob that forced its way out of her throat.

"Lucy, Lucy . . . " Susan rubbed her little sister's back as it tensed and relaxed between sobs. Tears began to leak out of the older queen's eyes. She impatiently dashed them away with the back of her hand. "Lucy, you of all people would believe, would _know_, Aslan would not allow his High King to be k-killed." Susan took a shuddering breath. "Besides, we've watched them go off to battle before, always knowing that Peter would be in the most danger because he was High King . . ."

"Susan." Lucy's voice was at once hard, steely with determination and certainty. "Susan, we must find Him."

"What? Who? Lucy, what are you talking about?" Susan held her sister at arms length, searching her face for direction.

"Aslan. We have to go find Him, Su. Get horses, or something, and go out the back way- we must find Him! For Peter's sake. For all Narnians."

It was cool and dim in the armoury cave, and quiet. Their footsteps echoed against the rough walls as they paced into the room, each step weighted with care and the knowledge that this might be the last time they would arm one another. Sharing nervousness and tradition in the heft of steel, the creak of leather, and clinking of buckles and blades was something Peter, Edmund, and Rachel all held dear in their memories. Solemnity hung in the air, its heaviness felt every time some implement of protection or offence was handled.

First they undressed, down to their small clothes. Then they tied each other into heavy gambesons and pulled on thick yet flexible leggings. Then came the chainmail, cool and conforming, leggings and long-sleeved shirts for all three. They sat for a few long minutes in their mail. No one wanted to rise. Peter watched flecks of light glance off Rachel's hair, watched her red mouth disappear behind her hand as she ran it down her face. He gazed over at Ed's worried eyes and saw him trace the designs on the pommel of one of his long swords. Rachel listened to the clinking of the chainmail when she shifted and stared at Peter's pauldrons. They were too ornamental for her liking, but he always insisted on them. Edmund smelled the metal of the mail and rose. His plate armour was thin but covered in leather. He was unused to fighting with the stench of steel in his nose. He grabbed his breast plate and began struggling into it. He stilled, feeling steady hands on is shoulders. "Hold on a minute." It was Peter. He carefully laced up the sides, then collar, of the breast plate. He hated that it was so thin, but he knew Edmund would be in more danger if he was encumbered by something thicker and heavier than his lighter armour, for he in it could maintain his agility and speed. Rachel watched the brothers for a moment, then turned with a smile to her own breast plate. Covered in leather except for the large ridged bronze circle that went under her chest to protect her stomach, the rest of the plates were not visible, overlaid as they were in leather. She hefted the heavy piece and reverently placed it over her head, feeling the gloriously familiar weight settle over her shoulders, and a blissful expression blossomed on her face. This was how things were meant to be. She heard the boys on either of her and raised her arms so they could lace up her sides. Then came Peter's breast and back plates. They were polished steel, reflecting the dull morning light that filtered dustily into the armoury. She turned to Peter, breast plate in hand and, meeting his grave blue eyes with trust and pride, settled it onto his front, lacing it to the back plate Ed held behind Peter with deft practised movements. She settled Peter's pauldrons on next as Edmund took care of his own cuisses and poleyns, buckling them so they were tight but not too tight.

Slowly the three put on full suits of armour as other creatures began to filter into the armoury to arm their selves for the possibility of coming conflict. Rachel tightened the buckles on her shoulder belts and tapped each knife to insure its secure placement on her bandolier. Satisfied, she turned to see Peter testing his sheath to make sure he could quickly draw his sword. She tugged on her gauntlets and helped Edmund with his, then took her helmet and Peter's in hand. She walked over to the High King and put a hand on his shoulder. Meeting his eyes once more, she reached up and kissed him once, softly, then handed him his helmet. Peter embraced Edmund, then clapped them both on the shoulder. "Ready?" They nodded, then marched out to face the sunlight and their enemies.

And it was time to fight. It was a windless day, with clear light flooding the small plain. Peter stood between Edmund and Rachel, all three armed to the teeth, identical expressions, glimmering with calm confidence and a touch of wolfish good humour, apparent on each face. The solemnity of armouring had evaporated to be replaced with a sharp, high-spirited anticipation. Caspian found it very disconcerting. He meandered hesitantly over to them, darting furtive looks at them as he neared them. "Caspian," Peter greeted him. Edmund looked him up and down to make sure of his readiness. Rachel continued to stare out across the plain towards the Telmarine army. She would shake her muscles out every few minutes, her throwing knives glittering in the sunlight. Other than that, she was motionless. It may have appeared comical, a girl, shorter by half a foot or more than all three men standing around her, decked out in more weaponry than any of them. Caspian told himself he was not in any way scared by her. Just a bit intimidated. Slightly. He took a small step back and forced himself to concentrate on High King Peter. He thought the boy had been saying something . . .

"I'll walk out, escorted by Ed. You and Rachel are to stay here. Keep a weather eye out for any trickery. Forgive me, but I don't much trust your uncle and his court." The blonde smiled tightly and took a deep breath.

Rachel's face fell. For some reason her mind had been set for battle, and the fact that it was to be Peter in single combat did not mar her thoughts until he spoke to Caspian. She glanced over at Ed. His face was more set now, and he slowly chewed his tongue while squinting out at the opposing forces that had materialised darkly in the shadows of early morning. Now the sun shined down too brightly, bouncing off the thousands of weapons and helmets of the Telmarines, and Rachel did not want to let Peter anywhere near them or their king. Her eyes moved from Edmund to his brother and her stomach tightened under her armour. She caught his eye as he looked away from shaking Caspian's hand. His expression softened from the hard concentration it had held while talking to the prince.

"Not so easy on the other side, is it? Don't worry; I'll be fine," he said with a sad yet mischievious smile, stepping over to stand in front of her.

"What?"

"All those times you rode off to fight and left me safe in the Cair. You always said that. It never was very reassuring though."

"Hahah, oh yeah." Suddenly she was grinning as she remembered all the times she had spoken those words to him. "Yeah. You're right then."

He leaned down and kissed her softly and she held his armoured shoulders tightly, wanting to hold him there long enough that the army behind her would leave. When he leaned back, she studied his face carefully. "Be quick."

"What?"

"You need to be quick on your feet, like Ed", she clarified. "You're smaller, you're not going to be as strong as you were fully grown. You need to be quick, light. Lots of fast blows with only as much strength behind them as won't tire you out. Remember that your shield can be a weapon too, but only if you put enough power behind it. You need to make this a battle of skill and wits rather than strength. Got that?"

He nodded, knowing to take her advice seriously, thinking it through. "It'll be . . . interesting."

"-And if he ever gets the upper hand and it's out of your control, just back up and take a breath. Don't get distracted by noise or a lack of it. Okay?" Rachel bit her lip, hoping she wasn't being annoying or overloading him with information. She just wanted to help, to give Peter the best chance he could get.

"Don't worry. I'll be fine. Wow, that's really all I can say, isn't it?" He shook his head, chuckling, and she smiled back. "I always used to get mad at you for saying that. But I don't know what else I can say to-"

She threw her arms around his neck, pressing her lips again to his, hard and heavy kiss. "Nope," she agreed, drawing away. "I love you. Now go slice up some Telmarines for me, alright?" She challenged him with her tight smile and angry eyes. He nodded, gripped her shoulder, then motioned for Ed to follow him.

Rachel watched to two boys stride forward towards the circular dueling pit. She loved them both so much, and she wanted nothing more than to join them, to fight alongside them. But she would have to wait on the sidelines, as would Ed. She comforted herself with the thought that she could always throw a knife into King Miraz's neck were he close to striking a fatal blow. Damn the rules, she would never allow one of her kings to be killed in front of her, no matter what the circumstances. Smiling with this notion, she had a thought.

Reaching behind her, she grasped the long hilt of her scimitar and freed it from its sheath. "Yell with me!" she ordered, lightly punching Caspian on the arm. He looked at her raised weapon and unsheathed his rapier, smiling back at her.

"Narnia!" They cried in unison, and soon the roaring battle cry was taken up by their soldiers behind them, ringing deeply outwards, rumbling across the plain. She watched, screaming her lungs out, as Peter drew Rhindon and saluted them all. "Good luck", she whispered.


End file.
